Conviction
by Peppermint Stick
Summary: Medieval Trory. Tristan had Rory's family killed, but she escaped. Years later she's brought to the castle, but until he figures out who she is, who's to say a king can't fall for a fiery peasant who hates him for reasons he can't figure out?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: I don't own Gilmore Girls, sadly._

_Medieval Trory. Uhh. . . . .Hartford is a kingdom and Stars Hollow is one of the small villages outside of the city. Gildren in a neighboring kingdom, but it'll only be mentioned once. . . .I think everything else you'll be able to understand with this chapter._

Eight year old Rory Hayden clutched the skirt of her dress tighter as her parents ran around the house frantically. "What the hell were you thinking?" her mother yelled, making sure all the doors were locked and pushing chairs to bar them.

"Lorelai, I told you, I went to confront him and he attacked me. It was self defense."

Rory pushed her back harder to the wall as her mother's fury practically burned her skin.

"Christopher, you have murdered the king-"

He winced, "Keep your voice down!"

She ignored him, "-Do you not understand what this means?" she screeched, throwing a book at her husband. "They'll find his body by the end of the night and then what will become of your family? They'll realize it was you within a day! You were the last to go see him!" He walked over to her and tried to draw her into his arms, but she pushed him away, "No, don't. There's no time."

Richard, her twelve year old brother, ran into the room, "The back is locked."

Lorelai nodded before turning to her husband, "Can Laurel take Rory?"

"Yes." he said tiredly. His cousin was visiting Hartford and had agreed to hide their youngest child until she was safe. "She's coming for her tonight and they'll be back in Stars Hollow by morning." Lorelai exhaled heavily, nodding as she closed her eyes. Chris spoke again, "Will your parents hide Richard?" Lorelai nodded and opened her mouth to speak, but her son cut her off.

"I'm staying."

His father turned to face him, "No you're not."

"Dad, I-"

"Richard!" his son fell silent, "You are going with your grandparents. Accept it." The boy crossed his arms defiantly, but was silent. Chris looked around, "Where's Victoria?"

"I'm here, dad." their fifteen year old daughter made her way down the stairs and came into the room with them.

"Good. Your uncle will be here in a few hours to take you with him."

She shook her dirty blonde head calmly, "No."

He looked over at her, "Victoria-"

"No, dad. It's my fault you're in this situation-"

"No it isn't. Don't you ever say this was your fault."

Her face didn't change as she watched him, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying with you and mom."

He sighed, shaking his head, "Darling, your mother isn't staying either."

"Excuse me? Oh yes I am."

He turned to plead with her, "Lorelai-"

"No, Christopher. I'm staying." she glanced over at her older daughter resignedly, "And if Victoria wants to stay as well she's old enough to make that decision. She's part of this too."

"Mom-"

"Richard!" she cut him off, "You are leaving. Don't try to be brave on this. It won't do you any good." She looked around the room, "Where's Rory?"

The eight year old held her breath, clenching her teeth to stop from crying while her family looked around the room. She was in a shadow behind a large chair and the four spread out to see if they could spot her. It only took her brother a moment to find her. They'd always been closest. Richard came over to her crouched down next to her, smiling weakly, "Hey, Ror." he whispered, pulling her into a hug. She kept her arms tight around her chest, but rested her head on his shoulder and burrowed into him. He pulled back from the hug and held her a few inches in front of him, smiling gently. She smiled back as well, sniffingly lightly. "Hey-" he wiped away a stray tear, "Why are you crying?"

"Why do we have to go away, Richie?" she whispered.

He chewed on his bottom lip, inhaling deeply, "Because daddy has some things to work out with the king's family." He tightened his grip on his little sister when he felt her tremble.

"But we're not going together?"

He shook his head slowly, "No. But you're going to go with cousin Laurel to Stars Hollow. Remember how much you liked Stars Hollow?" Her bottom lip was trembling as she shook her head. "Oh, but you did. There's a lake and all the people are friendly. Remember when we went there last summer and the pub owner and his wife let you play with their sheep?" he asked. The little girl thought for a moment before nodding sadly. He smiled encouragingly, "See, you'll have tons of fun."

"But if only me and you are leaving then why can't you come too? Why do you have to go with grandma and grandpa?"

"It's just easier that way. Cousin Laurel and her husband can't support both of us."

She smiled, "Then we can just split our food and sleep in the same bed!"

He laughed before shaking his head, "It doesn't work that way, doll."

Her smiled dissolved, "When are we coming home?"

He shook his head, still holding onto her, "I don't know. Soon, I hope." Her shoulders fell and she embraced him tightly, burying her face in his neck. There was a knock on the back door and he looked up to see that the other three had been watching the exchange, their mother with tears in her eyes. Christopher stood to get the door and Richard slowly released his sister.

Rory wiped her eyes and looked over at her mother and sister. Lorelai fell to her knees and opened her arms, "Come here, sweetie." she whispered, and Rory walked over to her, gripping her tightly as she started to cry. "Shhh." her mother whispered, rubbing her back comfortingly, "I love you baby." The little girl nodded, unable to speak as her father entered the room, followed closely by his cousin. Lorelai pulled back and looked into Rory's face, tears in her own eyes as she brushed away her daughter's. "Hey, be strong for mommy, okay?" she whispered, smiling waterily. Rory nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. Lorelai kissed her and gave her another hug before standing.

Victoria crouched and pulled her little sister into her arms. Rory buried her face into her sister's

wavy locks, "Will you still teach me to braid my hair, Tori?" she whispered.

The older girl laughed and pulled away, tears in her eyes, "Of course I will, Ror." her voice was

stuffy, "As soon as you get home." she hugged her sister again, "I love you."

"I love you too." Rory said quietly before Victoria stood.

Then her father walked over to her and picked her up sweepingly, hugging her to his chest tightly. She clutched at his shirt and buried her face in his chest, "Daddy?" she whispered.

"Yes, baby?"

She raised her head to look at him, "Will you talk to the king's family fast so me and Richie can come home?"

He licked his bottom lip and rested his forehead against hers, "I'll try." He kissed her gently, "I love you Rory."

She hugged him again, harder than before, "I love you too daddy. I'll see you when I get home."

He gave her one final squeeze before walking over to his cousin and setting his daughter down. He gave Laurel a hug, "Thank you so much. You don't know what this means to me."

"I know you'd do the same for me." she pulled back from the hug and gave him a weak smile, "Good luck, Chris." she whispered, kissing him on the cheek. She then bid adieu to the rest of the family and took Rory's hand, "You ready, Rory?" The little girl looked at her family one final time before nodding and allowing her father's cousin to lead her quickly from the house.

-

Twelve year old Tristan Dugrey sat in the empty throne-room after his coronation. He was sitting in his father's.....his.....throne. The crown was no longer on his head, but tucked safely away until a social event called it out. He looked around the abandoned room and rested his head on the heel of his hand. He was king now. His father's body had been discovered five days ago, and the first act of business had been to crown the new king. Throughout the entire ceremony his mother had been dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief and Max Medina, his father's most trusted advisor, had stood in a stony silence, his face unmoving.

Right before the ceremony, the head of the military had approached him and revealed that they'd found the murderer. It was Christopher Hayden, one of the wealthier landowners. Tristan didn't know much about the Haydens other than they were old blood and his father had always had eyes for Christopher's wife. He knew that they had several children, but wasn't positive of the ages or genders.

He himself was an only child, and at the moment he was thrown to memories of his recently deceased father. He balled his hands into fists to keep them from shaking. He didn't cry. Even at twelve he'd learned long ago that a monarch wasn't mean to cry. It wasn't in their blood. But it hurt. Honestly, it just hurt. What in the world would have possessed a faithful follower to murder his father in cold blood. He'd loved him. It'd been his father who'd played with him when he was young. Who'd taught him to play sports, ride a horse, and hold a sword. It'd been his father who'd stayed up with him the nights when he was sick and who'd stayed in the room until sleep claimed him as a child. It'd been his father who walked with him and asked about his problems and worries. Never his mother. His mother was cold and distant, whereas his father had been warm and welcoming. One of the best men in the world, and everyone loved him. He had fewer faults than any man Tristan knew. In fact thinking back on it, he only knew of one fault that his father had. Women. His father was a womanizer, and his mother knew it. Perhaps that was why she was so distant; because she knew of his many mistresses. Tristan inhaled deeply and ran a hand through his hair. His mind flitted back to his earlier thought that his father had eyes for Christopher's wife, but he quickly pushed it from his mind.

His father had never tried to seduce a married woman, and besides, that wasn't grounds for murder. He chewed on the insides of his cheeks for a moment, stewing over it when Max entered the throne-room. Tristan's gaze shot up and he called to him, "Medina!" The man strode quickly towards him, "Yes, my Lord?" He leaned back in the throne, "It was Christopher Hayden, yes?"

"Yes my Lord."

Tristan nodded slowly, pressing his lips together, "And the motive?"

"He won't say, your highness."

Tristan's eyes narrowed, "He won't say?"

"No. We've tried all we can think of, and he still stays silent."

The king nodded slowly, looking into space, "Kill him."

"Yes, your highness." he waited for a moment to see if Tristan would speak again, and when he didn't, the man turned to leave, but stopped when the king spoke again.

"And his family."

Max turned, "Excuse me?"

Tristan spoke up, his eyes still at the far end of the room, "His family. His wife and children. His parents. His siblings. His cousins. Aunts and uncles. Nieces and nephews. I want all the Haydens dead."

His advisor's eyes widened in horror, "My lord, no. His entire family?"

The king nodded, "And his wife's as well."

"My Lord, their families are faithful. It was just Christop-"

Tristan cut him off, "All of them, Medina." He laced his fingers together and rested them in his lap, "Don't be cruel with it, just have it done. Quickly."

"Tristan, think of what you're saying. That is a command to murder more than fifty people in your first days of being king. Don't be rash. Think about this-"

Tristan cut him off, "He killed the king in his own home, Max. Can we just let him get away with that?" he snapped acidly, turning to face him.

The man spoke quietly, pleadingly, "No, but do not murder fifty innocent people over it. His wife's family as well, my Lord? That is just blood lust for revenge."

"Are you saying you don't think the king should be avenged?"

He shook his head, "Of course not. I-"

"Medina." he cut him off calmly, "I am the king. Do as I say. I don't care how long it takes or how far to have to go. I want every last one of them dead. I never want to see another Hayden or

Gilmore alive."

He sighed, closing his eyes, "Yes my Lord."

-

One week later, Rory was walking out of her cousin Laurel's front door and going towards town square when she saw Jess. He was ten and since she'd been here last, he'd moved in with his uncle Luke, the pub owner, and his wife Rachel, the town's painter. He was short for his age, but still a good bit taller than her. Taylor Doose, the town's most prominent citizen, didn't like Jess very much. He called him a mongrel and a hoodlum. When she'd asked why Mr. Doose didn't like Jess, he'd just told her that she'd find out eventually. And she had, when on the third day she was there, the lines that kept his horses attached to his carriage had been cut, and once they got up a little speed they'd broken away, making the carriage roll twenty feet and crash into a nearby tree.

"Hey Rory, my uncle wants me, Dave, and Lane to take his sheep to graze. We're taking them over the hill to the field beside the waterfall. You want to come with?"

She crossed her arms over her chest, "Yeah. But I'll have to go tell my aunt."

He nodded, motioning towards the well in the center of the town square, "Meet us at the well in fifteen minutes."

And so an hour later the four children found themselves a mile from Stars Hollow. Luke's sheep were grazing on the hill and Rory, Dave, Jess, and Lane were laying on their backs on the bank of the pond. The other three were asking her about life in the city and she was trying her hardest not to tell them about what had happened her last night at home. Her parents had told her that she wasn't to tell anyone about what had happened, but she still didn't know exactly what she was keeping secret. She really didn't know why she and her brother had been forced to leave. She was pulled from her thoughts when Jess stood up and walked closer to the wall of rock that the small waterfall ran over. "You guys want to go swimming?"

Lane shook her head, "We aren't allowed to swim here without our parents, Jess. You know that. Creiny Miller drowned here last summer."

"Yeah, I know." he turned to face them, "But Creiny miller was only five, right?" the girl nodded slowly, "Yeah? So we're better swimmers than he was. Come on. It'll be fun."

Rory thought it over for a moment before standing, "I wouldn't mind swimming."

"Me either." Dave stood as well and pulled off his shirt.

Jess smiled and Lane brought herself up slowly, "I guess. But only for a little while."

"Laney, Laney, where's your sense of fun?" he asked, pulling off his shirt as well.

She rolled her eyes, "Far away from Creiny Miller's grave."

Jess laughed and jumped in the water, splashing the two girls. Lane pulled off her dress before getting in, but Rory didn't bother. "Aren't you going to take your dress off, Rory? It'll get heavy with the water and take forever to dry."

She shrugged, already in up to her waist, "It's already wet now."

"Have you ever been behind the waterfall, Rory?" Jess asked, paddling over to said natural

wonder while Lane and Dave swam around, splashing each other and laughing.

She shook her head, following him, "I haven't."

"It's nice. It goes up twenty five feet and it's like, three feet from the wall. My uncle says it's five feet across." he swam behind it and completely disappeared from view, his voice drowned out by the sound. He came out the other side and smiled, "Great place to hide."

Rory laughed, "Oh yeah?" he nodded, paddling back over to the other two. Rory swam behind it and looked around. There was a small, naturally hollowed out area behind it that several people could fit in. She looked out from behind the waterfall and was about to swim over to her friends when she saw them stop swimming and look around. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but they looked worried. She shrank back and watched from a position that they couldn't see her.

Jess stiffened and Dave turned to look over at him, "What?"

"Do you hear horses?" he asked, looking around.

The other two craned their necks and listened intently. After a moment Lane spoke, "Yeah. They're coming over the hill." The three turned to see that the sheep were moving out of the way of something and soon three men on horseback made their way over the crest of the hill. As soon as they spotted the children their speed picked up and they were at the shore of the pond in a few moments. "You there, boy!" he called and Jess turned to look at him, but didn't say anything. The three men were recognizable as the king's personal guards. "What's your name? How old are you?"

"Jess Mariano. I'm ten."

"And you, girl?"

"Lane Kim." she called back. "I'm nine."

He glanced at Dave, "You?"

"David Ryglaski. I'm ten also."

"And it's just the three of you, then?" the second one asked. They nodded. The third guard looked around and his eyes landed on their clothes that'd been thrown on the shore, "This your dress?" he asked.

She nodded slowly and the first guard spoke up, "Why are the three of you alone out here?"

"We're taking my uncle's sheep to graze."

"And it's just the three of you? No one else came?"

"No." Jess responded. "Just us."

The man looked around before nodding slowly, "She's not here then. Come on, we'll meet up with the others and head to the next town. We're done here." And with that they turned their horses and left at a gallop. Jess, Dave, and Lane treaded water until the sound of the horses' hooves had been gone for several minutes.

They swam slowly over to the waterfall to see that Rory was sitting in the hollow shivering. "What was that about?" Lane asked.

Rory shook her head as her teeth began chattering, still looking at the place the horses had left from, "I don't know."

"Come on, we should get back." Jess said upon seeing that her lips were losing their color.

She nodded, pushing herself off of the rock, "Yeah."

-

Jess herded the sheep back into their pin and made his way to the front door. Several people in town had looked at the four strangely as they made their way home. There were whispers through the town about why the soldiers had come and wether anyone had been arrested. He wondered why they'd come over the hill. The only people that ever went there were the shepherds when they felt like giving their animals a change of scenery, children who were up to no good, and teenagers who were involved in promiscuous activities. What purpose did the king's guards have in Stars Hollow? Let alone over the hill. He pushed the front door open to see his aunt pacing back and forth nervously, chewing on her nails while Luke lingered behind her, sitting at the table. As soon as he entered the room she fell upon him, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him to her chest. "Jess, thank God you're alright." He didn't have time to act disgusted that she was hugging him before she stiffened and jerked away, holding him at arm's length, "Where's Rory?"

His eyes widened at the urgency in his aunt's voice, "She went to Laurel's-"

"Luke!" Rachel cut him off and turned wildly to her husband, but he was already on his feet.

"I've got her." and he dashed out the door.

Rachel closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as she held a hand to her heart, "Lord help us." she whispered, resting her other hand in her nephew's hair.

"What's wrong?" he asked. She turned to look at him, breathing heavily. He crossed his arms over his chest, "Does this have anything to do with the soldiers?"

She nodded slowly, "Wait until Luke comes back with Rory. Then we'll explain."

-

Rory came up the walk to see that the front door was open a sliver. She slowed and narrowed her eyes, tilting her head. Cousin Laurel never left the door open. She came to it and only touched it with the tips of her fingers, pushing it gently. The door swung open heavily and she stepped in slowly, looking around. Her eyes widened as she made her way through the main room. Furniture was overturned and pictures were ripped from the walls. She walked into the kitchen to see that several cabinets were hanging open and the table was on it's side, one of the legs splintered. "Hello?" she called, turning in a circle as she took in the room. "Laurel?" Two of the four chairs were broken and the others were on their sides, "Jason?" she walked from the kitchen, "Anyone?" she entered the side room and froze just as someone crashed through the front doorway.

Her eyes widened in horror as they fell upon Laurel's stiff arm, the flower bracelet Rory had made for her hanging off of it. Her gaze traveled down the arm until it came to the shoulder and then her cousin's face. Blood pooled on the floor and splattered the walls. Rory inhaled raggedly and staggered back, her mouth opening into a silent scream as she took in the two bodies before her. "Rory!" The tears had barely begun to fill her eyes when she felt, more than heard someone call her name and envelope her from behind, turning her into his chest to hide her from the carnage. She buried her face into Luke's shoulder and fisted his shirt in her hands as he picked her up, "Come on sweetie, it's gonna be okay. I'm getting you out of here." Her body began to shake and sobs tore from her throat as they exited the house, Luke closing the door, "It's gonna be alright, Rory. We'll keep you safe."

-

Half an hour later Rory sat in the kitchen on Luke's lap, her head on his shoulder. She tightened her grip on the mug of warm milk and honey in her hands, letting it's warmth seep into her palms and fingers. Rachel and Jess sat at the table as well; none of them had spoken, but now that they were settled and everyone had something to drink, they just sat at the table in silence. Night had fallen and crickets were singing from the woods. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as she sank further into Luke. The pub owner and his wife had been best friends with Laurel and Jason, her husband. Rory knew that they were the only ones Laurel had explained Rory's situation to. What she didn't know was that her father's cousin had asked them to take the little girl if anything were to happen to them.

"Well Rory," Rachel said quietly, raising her gaze to see the girl on her husband's lap, "-you'll be staying with us for a while."

She raised her head and looked over at the woman, "What? I'm not going home?"

She shook her head sadly, "No sweetie, we're going to keep you here."

"But what about my family?"

Rachel bit her lip, "Well, Rory...." she trailed off, swallowing hard and closing her eyes to fight back tears.

Luke spoke quietly, "Tell her the truth. She's old enough to understand."

Rachel exhaled slowly and pressed her lips together, "Actually Rory, your family's passed away."

Rory's face didn't change. She must have misunderstood. 'Passed away' meant dead. No, there was no way. "What are you talking about?"

Her forehead scrunched with pain and she leaned forward, "Rory, you know how your dad got in a fight with the king?" She nodded slowly, and Rachel opened her mouth to continue, but Luke cut her off.

"She needs to know why." Rachel's gaze snapped to him and she shook her head slowly, but he nodded, "She deserves to know why all this is happening to her. She needs to know that it wasn't Christopher's fault."

Rachel sighed, scratching the back of her head before looking back at the little girl, "Do you know why your father got into a fight with the king?"

Rory bit her lip, thinking back, "He did something to mom and Tori."

Rachel nodded slowly, "That's right. Do you know exactly what he did?" Rory shook her head and the woman chewed on the insides of her cheeks, thinking for a moment. "He made your mother and sister do things with him that they didn't want to do."

"Things like what?" she asked, sitting up straighter.

Rachel exhaled heavily and sat back in her chair, "Rory do you know what it means to go to bed with someone?"

The girl nodded proudly, "That's what happens when babies are born."

Rachel smiled a little, nodding gently, "That's right. And only a husband and wife should go to bed together. It's a sign of love. But sometimes people go to bed with someone they aren't married to."

She stopped for a moment and Rory's eyes widened, "So then mom and Tori went to bed with the king?"

"The king forced your mother and sister to go to bed with him."

She tilted her head, thinking for a moment, "So he made them when they didn't want to?" she asked, and Rachel nodded her head. "Then is that why Richie told me that dad was going to fight for mom and Tori's honor?"

Rachel nodded again, "That's right. And when your father went to talk to the king about it, the king got angry and hit your father. He tried to leave, but the king wouldn't let him so your dad had to fight back. He accidentally killed the king and then his son Tristan became the new king-"

Rory cut her off, "My dad killed the king?"

"On accident and in self defense." she said quickly, "Once Tristan became king he told his guards that he wanted revenge. He said he wanted your family killed." Rory's head lowered a fraction of an inch, but she didn't speak and Rachel continued. "He said he wanted both your mother's and father's families dead."

Rory pressed her lips together, looking down, "And?"

Rachel closed her eyes, "And we're thanking God that Jess, David, and Lane told the guards that no one else came with them." she whispered, "Rory, they're gone." The small brunette closed her eyes, inhaling raggedly. She was only eight, but could understand exactly what her aunt meant.

"You grandparents. Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. They're all dead." she whispered.

Rory's eyes were still closed, but tears were now escaping, "Richie and Tori?" she whispered.

Rachel nodded slowly, "They came into your house and killed your parents and sister on the spot. Within an hour they'd gone to your grandparent's house where your brother was staying. The guards were ordered to kill everyone but the servants." She chewed on her bottom lip, "You're the only one left. Gilmore or Hayden."

Rory's body shook and Luke pulled her tighter to her chest, "So then I'm staying here?"

Rachel nodded sadly, watching the little girl clutch to her husband, "Yeah baby, you're staying here."

-

Rachel looked over at the two children's sleeping forms, Rory cuddled close to Jess's side. She closed the door gently and walked over to Luke in the kitchen. He was at the counter, setting the four mugs down. He looked up when she came in and walked over to her, arms outstretched.

She smiled lightly and walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his middle and resting her forehead on his shoulder. He embraced her and she sighed contentedly. After a moment she spoke, "It's funny."

"Hmm?" Luke grunted quietly, his chin on her head.

"Two years ago we were devastated when we realized we wouldn't be able to have children." she raised her head to look at him, smiling lightly, "And now we have two."

He smiled back gently before sighing and shaking his head, "What are we gonna do about her?"

Rachel shrugged, "I don't know. We're keeping her with us, though."

"Oh, yeah, I know that. I mean about her name."

His wife thought for a moment, "Well no one knows she's a Hayden. Jason and Laurel told people she was his niece from Gildren, so they think she's a Longsten anyway. And last summer when Christopher and his family came they camped in the country. I think we're the only ones who even met them."

Luke nodded slowly, "Yeah. I was thinking about that, and I thought that maybe she should take my last name."

Rachel's head tilted slightly, but she smiled. Luke didn't really like children, but had instantly taken to Rory, "What?"

"They think she's a Longsten, but everyone knows Laurel and Jason were married. I think she should take our name in case the king realizes that there's a Hayden who's unaccounted for. Completely sever her tie with them."

Rachel grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck, "I think that's an excellent idea." she kissed him gently, but then pulled away, "We'll have to be careful of her crest, though."

His forehead knitted together, "What crest?"

"It's a Hayden tradition. They have a design burned into the top of their leg when they're born. I'm not positive why they do it, but I think it's to identify themselves. Laurel showed me hers once. It's at the top of their right thigh. A design with an _H_ in it. Did you notice the guards checking a lot of the young girls?"

Luke nodded slowly, "Yeah, I noticed. I wondered what they were doing."

Rachel nodded, "They were checking for it. That's part of the reason I was so worried about them finding her. I knew Jess hated the guards and would lie about who she was, but I was afraid they'd find her mark."

He tightened his grip on her, "Well we'll keep her safe. Keep the mark a secret." he kissed his wife gently, "Your best friend won't have died for nothing."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I don't own Gilmore Girls or it's characters. . . . . .mmmm, next chapter should be up faster than this one was.

-

Seventeen year old Rory Danes was laying on a large, flat rock next to the pond, sunbathing in the afternoon heat. Well, technically her name was Lorelai Hayden, but she'd gotten out of the habit of thinking of Hayden as her last name six years ago. She stretched, arching her back before curling into a ball and relaxing further. Her nineteen year old cousin Jess sat up from his place next to her and scratched the back of his head, having just woken up. He glanced over at the waterfall and rolled his neck.

Rory yawned, "Where are Lane and Dave?" it was Lane's eighteenth birthday.

Jess shrugged, "Back in town, I guess. He had a surprise for her birthday."

His cousin grinned, "Oh yeah?"

"Mmmhm."

She shielded her eyes from the sun and looked up at him, "What was the surprise?" Jess shrugged, standing and stretching before pulling off his shirt. Rory grinned and got to her feet as well. She bit her lip, lowering her head, but keeping her eyes on him as she grinned.

He simply glanced over at her, "No."

Her jaw dropped before her lips twisted into a pout, "Come on."

"No." he began making his way towards the water and she followed him.

"Jess come on. Please."

"I will not fight you."

She sighed, rolling her eyes, "Just because you know I'll beat you."

He turned to grin at her, "Yes, you would. And I refuse to feel bad about it because you can beat every other guy in town. I suck with a sword anyways."

Rory grabbed the two swords Dave's father had created for them. The master swordmaker had molded weapons for all four of the friends on their sixteenth birthday. She smiled innocently "Jess, if you love me-"

"Ah-" he cut her off, "Don't even start with the guilt." She bit her bottom lip, knowing he would cave. After a moment he rolled his eyes and held out his hand, "Give me mine."

She squealed happily and tossed his to him. He caught it easily and sighed, stepping into stance. Rory mimicked the action and was about to move when they heard someone shriek, "Rory!" as Lane came careening over the hill. Jess lowered his sword and laughed, while Rory sighed and glared at him before turning to the screaming girl.

"Yes, Lane darling?"

"Oh my God!" she screamed, coming to her two friends and ceasing her sprinting, but continuing to jump three feet in the air, "Oh my God, Rory! Oh my God!" Rory's eyes widened as Lane grabbed her arms, continuing her bouncing, "You'll never believe this! He did it! He actually did it! Oh my God! Just now! He did it!" Rory's eyes were the size of saucers as her head bounced to follow the flying girl. Jess's arms were crossed, obviously amused as he watched the two with a knowing smirk.

"What? Who did what? What are you talking about?" she grabbed Lane's forearms and forced the girl to stop jumping, but she continued to bounce on the balls of her feet.

"Dave!" she practically screamed.

"Dave what?" Rory asked, shaking her head.

"He proposed to me! Just now! He proposed!"

Her jaw dropped and her eyes shot open, "Oh my God!" she jumped up, resulting in Lane starting again so both girls were rocketing into the air. "Oh my God, Lane! He proposed! Oh my gosh,  
you're getting married!" she shrieked the last part, pulling her friend into a back breaking hug.

Jess was now laughing out loud at the two girl's antics and Lane turned to look at him. She grinned, releasing Rory and barreling into his chest. He grunted as the breath was knocked from him, but enveloped her, "Congratulations."

Lane grinned and started bouncing again before pulling away, "Thanks. But I have to go. My mother is interrogation him." she rolled her eyes, "As if she hasn't known him his whole life." She grinned at the other two, "I just wanted to tell you right away, but now I have to go save my future husband." she started to run off, but Rory called after her.

"Hey! I didn't get any details!"

Lane turned and ran backwards, "Come over later and I'll give you all of them!" she yelled before turning forward and streaking over the hill.

Rory turned back to look at her cousin to see that he was standing casually, watching her with a small smirk. Her jaw dropped and she hit him in the arm. Hard. "Ow." he grabbed it, but was smiling at her.

"You knew!"

"Knew what?" he asked innocently, releasing his arm and standing up straight.

"You knew he was proposing and you didn't tell me!"

"I didn't want to ruin the surprise."

"Jess!"

He was watching her, amused, "Rory! Come on, you know you liked hearing from her more."

She rolled her eyes, "When did he tell you?"

Jess shrugged, walking over to sit on their sunning-rock, "Last week. He was wondering how he should ask her."

"How long has he been planning to ask her?"

Jess laughed, looking out at the pond, "Since we were twelve."

Rory smiled and sat next to him, "So what did he decide on? How did he ask her?"

He looked over at his cousin, "Now wouldn't you much rather hear from her?"

"Jess!"

The raven haired boy grinned and stood up, "You would. I won't ruin it." He walked over to grab his shirt and she followed him.

"But you know impatient I am." she grabbed his arm after he'd pulled on the clothing. "Jess"  
she whined, "I'm going to annoy you until you tell me."

"Nah." he grabbed his sword and slid it into its sheath, "We have an entire mile to go. You'll get tired of it." he walked off and she took up her own weapon before jogging after him.

"Jess."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"I'll do your chores."

"No." She groaned, but continued making offers until they were over the hill.

-

Rory was laying on one of the middle branches of a large oak tree in the center of town, reading a book she'd stolen from Jess when she heard a commotion below her. She glanced around before sliding from the branch and standing on the one below it to get a better look. It was difficult to make things out through the leaves, but she could've sworn she caught sight of a military uniform. Her heart stopped and she froze, eyes widening. She was always terrified anytime someone from the castle came to town. She swallowed hard and looked closer. Dull red uniforms with three meticulous crosses sewn into the back. The king's royal guards. She inhaled sharply and her heart started beating again, only now it was going double time. She climbed back up to the next branch, praying they wouldn't see her.

-

Jess and Dave were chopping wood out back of the Kim's business. It was a small furniture workshop where Lane's artist father worked his trade. People came from every village in the kingdom to purchase his tables and chairs.

They looked up as Lane's father stuck his head out the back door, "Boys-" the looked up, "-the king's guards are here. They want all men between the ages of sixteen and thirty to go to the town square." The two looked at each other, confused, but curious. They dropped their axes and wiped their brows before making their way from the Kim property towards town square.

-

They'd already started by the time Jess and Dave got to the square. "-and so, you will be put in heats of twelve. Six duels at once. The winners from each round will move onto the next until we have the top three, and then those men will be taken to the castle and put into the new guard"  
the knight who was speaking looked around at the two hundred and fifty men gathered around,  
"Swords are the only thing being used. We need men who can defend the king and his family on foot. The elite in hand-to-hand combat." He looked around again before speaking, "Get your swords and divide into heats. Mix it up. We don't want the twelve best men in one heat." He walked back to his comrades and turned to watch the men assemble themselves.

Jess leaned in to speak to the man next to him, "What's going on?"

"The king wants to reform his personal guards. They've been the same for twenty years and he's afraid they're tired. He wants the best young men in his kingdom. They're coming to all the villages to take the three strongest fighters from each one."

"Huh." Jess nodded thoughtfully before glancing over at Dave, "Looks like we won't have to worry." His friend laughed before walking towards his home to get his sword.

-

Turned out Jess and Dave were better than they thought. A lot better, actually. Maybe it came from combating with Rory, who was an amazing fighter, even by men's standards. But they'd always thought they weren't very good. They came to realize they were two of the best in the town. Neither were in the top three though, for which they were thankful. Dave wouldn't have been able to marry Lane, seeing as the king didn't like his guards to marry, and Jess just hated the king.

The three men won the final duels and were brought to the front. No one was surprised. It was known that they were three of the best four fighters in the town. The fourth being Rory. One of them was Nicholas Dreeden. His father was the best swordsman in town. In his younger days he'd been part of the queen's royal guard. Now he trained select young men from around the kingdom. When she'd moved to Stars Hollow he'd taken a liking to Rory. He'd seen something in her and had trained her since she was eight. No one was positive whether Nicholas or Rory would win in a duel, and neither had ever been interested in finding out.

The man who had spoken originally stood and once again addressed them. Jess thought that he was the head of the army, but wasn't positive. What was the general's name? Huntzburger? He tuned the man out for several minutes, but his attention was caught when someone in the crowd yelled, "What about the Danes girl?"

Jess's head snapped around to see who'd spoken. It was a short redhead in the front. He could never remember the guy's name. The general looked up, "Excuse me?"

Someone else spoke up, "Leigh Danes. In the whole town, she's best with a sword besides Nicholas." She went by her middle name to the rest of the town.

There were murmurs of approval and several of the guards began to roll their eyes and mock the people who said a woman was good with a sword, but the man speaking held his hand up, "Leigh Danes?" The guards were silent, but looked at him as if her were mad for seriously considering this. "Where is she?"

Jess's eyes widened and he felt himself begin sweating. This couldn't be happening. If the guards saw Rory, if they realized who she really was. . . .they wouldn't hesitate to slit her throat. He looked over at Dave, who's eyes were wide with horror as well. Three years ago Rory had told Dave and Lane who she really was. Neither had believed she was the lost daughter of Christopher Hayden. It was rumored throughout the kingdom that one of the traitorous man's children had escaped the slaughter of her family. Most didn't believe it, though. The family had been easily identifiable by their strong resemblance to one another. How could one of the children possibly have escaped? And after nine years, how could they not have been found? It wasn't until she'd sworn them to secrecy and shown them the crest burned into her thigh that they believed her. Then they'd been sixteen and fifteen, while she'd been fourteen. Old enough to know that even their parents couldn't be told who she really was.

Both knew that if Rory was brought into this ring for a fight, she would beat whoever she was up against. And if she was brought to the castle. . . .Jess's mind trailed off. He couldn't stand the thought.

"She's at the bridge." someone called out.

And before Jess knew what was going on, they'd sent a boy to fetch Rory and she was standing in front of the crowd, looking confused. "Leigh Danes?" the man asked.

She nodded slowly, "Yes sir." The man motioned to one of the three chosen, and the young man stepped forward. A sword was held out to Rory and she looked down at it, unsure, before taking it slowly. "What's this about?"

The man shook his head, "Win this duel and I'll explain." Rory's eyes narrowed, but she was distracted as her opponent lunged at her. She deflected it quickly, and the fight was on.

-

By the end, Rory had defeated two of the three, and she and Nick had been forced into a draw, neither being able to get the upper hand for long. After the duel they'd shared a companionable smile, having finally settled the debate about which was better with a sword. The guards were staring at her, jaws brushing the ground. None of them had ever seen a young woman fight like that. The men from the castle had a quick word before dismissing the crowd. The men of the town dispersed slowly, but Jess and Dave made their way towards their friend. They saw her pale as the general explained the situation.

"But I'm a girl." she said slowly, as if they didn't understand it.

The man laughed lightly, "Yes, I realize that. But you defeated two of the three best men in your town. In a dress, no less. Not many girls can do that." She let out a small squeak, panic written all over her face. She couldn't go to the castle. They would kill her. "Excuse me, everyone was dismissed." her gaze snapped back to him to see that he was looking behind her.

She turned and saw Jess and Dave. She waved her hand, "Oh, this is my cousin."

The man who'd introduced himself as Mitchum Huntzberger glanced over at her before nodding,  
"And the other one?"

"He's a friend."

"Your cousin can stay. The friend needs to leave."

Both Jess and Rory began to protest, but Dave quieted them, "No big deal, guys. I need to find Lane anyway." the cousins' shoulders fell and he walked away.

Rory turned back to the man, "I'm not going."

"You don't have a choice."

"Like hell I don't-"

"I have a decree from the king to take the three best swordsmen from each village and bring them to the castle to train for his guard."

Rory shrugged, "Well there you go. I'm a woman."

"You have to come." he was obviously getting impatient. "We're bringing the three men in case the king doesn't want a woman, but I'm following my orders. You're the best. You're coming."

She snorted, ignoring his last comment, "I will not."

"Either you'll come willingly or we'll take you by force-"

Jess stepped between them, "Like hell you will."

Mitchum looked down at him, "This doesn't concern you."

"It does concern me. You won't take her by force."

His eyebrow arched, "I'm sorry young man, but I think in a battle of physical strength, ten men from the king's army would win against you alone."

"My uncle would never let her go. He wouldn't allow it."

"Your uncle is bound by the law to do as the king says. As are each of you." they both opened their mouths to protest, but he cut them off, "Go home. Get your things in order. We'll come tonight to get you." Both began to shout loudly, but were ignored.

Finally Jess grabbed her arm and began steering her back to the house, "Forget it. Luke will never let you go. When they come they'll realize that and leave."

-

And so that's why, late that night, Rory found herself seated in a carriage with three of the men from her town, headed towards the castle. When she and Jess had explained the situation to Luke, he'd exploded. Saying he was going to find Mitchum Huntzburger and. . . . . .well, something he shouldn't have said in front of Rachel and Rory. It had taken nearly and hour for the other three to calm him down and finally he'd settled on the idea to just refuse to let her leave when they came that night. That little resolve had resulted in shouting, cursing, small objects flying through the air as they were thrown at people's heads, and had ended in one of the guards getting a black eye and Luke getting his lip busted. They'd then read the decree and told Luke that if he didn't stop he'd be arrested for attacking a member of the royal court. That, along with Rachel's tears, had been enough to sober him.

She pushed her back harder against the cushion behind her and crossed her legs under her long, hooded cloak. She chewed on her bottom lip, glancing out the window. Her sword was wrapped up and laid across her lap. The three men were talking excitedly, obviously honored and looking forward to being in the king's personal guard. She thought about it for a moment and realized that it was probably like a dream to them. Common peasants and countryfolk given the opportunity of a lifetime. They probably never imagined that they'd be able to move up in society. She sighed and scratched the back of her head, thinking. If she hadn't been fearing for her life and had always been poor, would she be exited about this opportunity? Wouldn't she have jumped at it? Most likely.

But not now. Now, not only was she scared of what would happen if she was found out, but she would have to see the king. Be in the same room as him. Breathe the same air as him. She would, for the first time since their death, come face to face with her family's murderer. He may not have held the sword that delivered the final blow, but if it hadn't been for his lust for revenge, her family would still be here.

She wondered what he looked like. She'd only seen him a few times as a child, and hadn't seen him at all in the past nine years. He'd only been to Stars Hollow three times since she came, and each time she and Jess had made an effort to camp far from town for a week.

And now, for some reason, she was going to see him. It was insane, really. She wasn't even supposed to be a fighter. She was a woman, and only supposed to know how to use a sword to defend herself if necessary. But something about combat had always entranced her. Even as a child she would watch her brother learn and practice, and then beg him to teach her. There was something about knowing that you could protect yourself and the people you cared about. Knowing that you could be independent. Knowing that when it came down to it, you could save yourself. And now look where it had gotten her. It very possibly may have gotten her a ride on the carriage to hell and her death.

The stopped and there was a little shouting and then the sounds of a drawbridge being lowered. The three young men began chattering excitedly and she closed her eyes. God help her, she didn't want to die.

-

Tristan stood in the entrance room of the castle, rolling his neck in a circle. The guards he had now were tired and had been undeniably faithful. They deserved an honorable release. Some had been in the royal family's personal guard for nearly thirty years. It was true that he could have taken men from the army, but he didn't want to take the best men from there. Besides, who's to say that the best men had been discovered yet?

He inhaled deeply, looking forward as the doors opened and young men began pouring into the hall two by two. This was the best of his people? Well, to say the least they looked very capable. He'd always prided of himself on having a strong nation. "Let the games begin." he muttered under his breath. Next to him, his cousin chuckled lightly.

"They look good. Better than I'd expected." Logan said quietly. Tristan nodded, silently agreeing.

His aunt Shira (his father's youngest sister) had married the head of the army, Mitchum Huntzburger, when she was eighteen. From that marriage had come Honor, his older cousin, and Logan. Honor, at twenty three, had two children and lived on a large estate half an hour from the castle. Logan was following in his father's footsteps and stood to become second-in-command of the army on his upcoming twenty first birthday.

He was pulled from his thoughts when his jaw dropped. His eyebrow arch as a young girl came into the room, her face blank. She looked around the elegant hall, her long, full, dark brown hair cascading over her shoulders and down her back, moving as her head slid from side to side. Even from the distance he could see her bright blue eyes take everything in. His eyes traveled down her body and he noticed that she held a sword in her hand, wrapped up in a deep purple cloth.

But he did notice that she seemed completely unimpressed. The rest from the country were looking around, wide eyed and wonderstruck. She almost looked bored. She smirked, leaning back on his heels. She had an attitude. "Mm. I'd like her powdered, put in something provocative, and sent to my room." he said quietly.

Logan laughed, "You'd like that about every woman in the kingdom."

Tristan's smirk widened, "Only the ones that look like that."

"Your highness," Mitchum spoke up, "The champions of your kingdom." he motioned towards the forty-odd or so young men.

Tristan nodded to his advisor and spoke to the men. He basically told them that they were the best and strongest in the country, they were the elite. Their formal training would begin in the morning and he'd take the next week to become personally acquainted with each. But for now it was late and they would need a good bit of rest, because tomorrow wasn't going to be easy. Throughout his ten-minute speech he looked at each of them individually, and as his eyes met theirs, they would look down respectively. All except for the girl.

Her eyes met his and she just stared. He was caught off guard, but knew he didn't show it. His voice never faltered and his stance never changed. He'd never seen eyes like that. Clear blue and cold. Defiant. No one had ever looked at him the way she had. Like she hated him. He almost felt she was looking down on him, but that was insane. He was the king. He shouldn't have felt demeaned by a young girl, but he did. It was almost as if she was looking through him. As if she could take the fact that he felt hollow and make it palpable, as if she really made him disappear.

It took him longer than it should have to break his gaze from hers, but when he did, he dismissed them, and they were sent off with Max Medina to be given their sleeping arrangements. He stared at her back as she exited the room, willing her to turn and look at him again, but she didn't.

-

Rory sat on one of the four beds in the room, glancing around. She was just glad that she and Nick were in the same room. The other two men in the room were from the outskirts of Hartford, the poor side of the town. The man assigning their rooms hadn't looked too keen on the idea of putting a young girl in a room with three men. She didn't see why, though. She'd slept in the same bed as a boy for the past nine years. She had never been and wasn't now uncomfortable around men.

She glanced around the room. There were four cots low to the ground, their training uniforms, and a window. Nothing else but the door their swords, and the clothes on their back. They'd been instructed to bring nothing else, but once training was over they'd be allowed to return to their homes for their things. She stretched out, laying on the cot. Nick stripped down to his undergarments, but the other two men glanced at her uncertainly. She rolled her eyes before closing them sleepily, "You won't offend me by getting comfortable." They glanced over at the boy from her town and saw that he'd already removed his clothes. So, shrugging, they began to remove their own.

-

Tristan sat in the lounge of the king's suite, Logan laying around on one of the couches as they waited for Mitchum to return. As soon as he opened the door, his nephew looked up, eyebrows arched, "A girl?" His uncle sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "A woman? Why in the world would you bring her?"

He shook his head, "Tristan, you don't get it. You didn't see her fight. This girl is amazing. She beat two of the champions from her village. The only one she couldn't defeat is the Carlton Dreeden's son, and he didn't even best her. It was a draw."

Tristan shook his head, "She may be the best fighter in the kingdom. That doesn't mean I'm about to allow a girl into my guard."

Mitchum rolled his eyes, "Don't pretend you would keep her out because she's a woman."

The king sighed, "She'll have to be the best. If any of the men can beat her then they won't respect her."

"I know. Trust me, Tristan. I doubt any of them will be able to. I've seen all of them fight, she and Nicholas Dreeden are the best."

His nephew said nothing, just leaned back in his chair for a while, chewing on the insides of his cheeks, "She looks familiar."

Mitchum nodded, "She does, but you wouldn't know her. Her father is the pub owner in one of the smallest villages of the kingdom. Nothing of notice."

Tristan shook his head, letting it go for the moment, "So then I'm meeting each of the men individually and we're going in alphabetical order." he thought for a moment, "What's her last name?"

"Danes."

"So then will I see her tomorrow?"

His uncle shook his head slowly, "The day after tomorrow."

Tristan smirked leaning back in his seat, "Mmm." She would be fun.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I don't own Michiavelli or** **_The Prince_.**

Rory woke up to someone banging into the room before dawn. They heard numerous other doors slammed open and guards yelling. Rory shot up, and she heard one of the guys in her room fall from his cot. There was a muffled curse as he lay on the ground. "Up! Up! You have sixty seconds to be dressed and in the hall. Don't bring your swords, just yourselves. We're going for a run. Move!"

They exited the room and the four occupants scrambled around in the dark. She had her dress over her head and flung to the wall in a matter of seconds and she threw on the uniform provided for her. She looked around wildly, but in the dark couldn't see anything and had no idea what to do with her hair. Seeing that she was dressed, Nick grabbed her elbow and dragged her from the room with him, leaving the other two to exit behind them. Her eyes were adjusting to the dark, and by the time she could get any picture of what was going on, the guards were yelling again and the new men were being herded out of the hall and down a flight of stairs.

They poured out of a side exit to the castle and Rory was pushed forward onto the dew covered grass. She ran her hands through her hair, looking around at the men. Within seconds all had exited the castle, and the guards were in front of the group. Without so much as an explanation or a chance to get their bearings, two of the guards took off. Most of the country men were uncertain of what to do, but Rory and Nick glanced at each other, rolling their eyes and sighing in exasperation before streaking off after the two guards. Three of the other men had realized what the guards were doing just as quickly, and they'd shot off as well.

After the first hour and a half, most of the men were lagging farther and farther behind. She and Nick were still at the front, but their pace had definitely slowed. By now the sun was beginning to rise and she could see that they'd been woken by and were training with the king's personal guard. Sweat rolled down her back in rivulets and she felt her forehead, neck, and chest drenched in it. The muggy morning heat was beginning to set in and the humidity of dawn had prevented the sweat from leaving her skin. She clenched her fists, biting the insides of her cheeks as the guards ten feet in front of her and Nick splashed through another stream. She didn't even feel it as her foot and shin entered and then exited the icy water. They'd already gone through four damn streams. She was convinced that they were crossing over the same spring in loops.

Rory didn't bother glancing over her shoulder. They'd lost sight of all but four other men and the two guards in the front. The last of the other new men had fallen behind ten minutes ago. She flicked her head to the side, trying to get some of the hair from her face. It was weighted down with perspiration and sticking to her neck a face.

Finally the exited the woods at a steady jog and the two guards stopped, turning around to face the six behind them. They were breathing heavily, but didn't bend over to catch their breath. They didn't even look all that winded. Nick collapsed to the ground and didn't even bother to roll onto his back, along with two of the other four men that had stayed with them. One of the men sat down and put his head between his knees, closing his eyes tightly. The fourth man fell to his knees and closed his eyes, resting the crown of his head on the cool grass. Rory bent over, resting her hands on her knees and closing her eyes, gritting her teeth as she forced down the pain shooting through her calves and the arches of her feet. She was just grateful that she, Jess, Lane, and Dave ran so much. They'd practically lived in the woods as children and still couldn't be kept indoors for long.

The two guards nodded towards the five young men and one young woman, "You six were in the lead the entire time, weren't you?" one of them asked. Rory nodded, unable to speak as she inhaled heavily.

The second guard nodded, "You two were the first ones to start running, too, right?" he asked,  
motioning to Nick, who still hadn't rolled onto his back. He hadn't even moved.

Rory nodded, still unable to stand up straight, "Yes, sir."

The two guards shared a look, "Leigh Danes and Nicholas Dreeden?"

Nick raised his head weakly and Rory's head cocked back, "Yes."

The first guard nodded slowly, "I figured."

The two shared a look, but were too exhausted to give it any thought before Rory sat down heavily, pulling her legs to her chest. "How long did we run for?" she asked.

"Two hours."

Her eyes bulged slightly and she fell on her side, closing her eyes.

"How far?" Nick breathed, pushing himself up on his elbows; he'd finally rolled over onto his stomach.

"About fifteen miles." The other four men emitted small whistles and grunts, lying down and curling into balls.

The two guards laughed, "That's impressive, though. Not many men can keep up with the king's guard." he glanced over at Rory, "And especially not a woman." She smiled lightly, but didn't respond as the other men began trickling out of the woods, every last one collapsing as he made his way to the group.

------

After they'd gotten their breakfast they were led out to the practice rings. Rory had finally found a leather cord and her hair was secured up in a messy bun, wisps of it falling out around her face. They were told to pair up and begin dueling, while the king's current personal guards would walk amongst them, correcting and criticizing.

Unsurprisingly, no one wanted to pair up with her. They all thought she would be the worst and that the rejects would be practicing with her. Finally the head guard forced one of the men to pair up with her. He grumbled the entire time, but once they were told to begin, she had him of the ground and her blade at his throat in a matter of seconds. The men complained loudly, saying that it'd been luck. Several jumped up, saying that they'd fight her just to prove that it hadn't been a real win. By the time the fifth man lost, Nick was rolling on the ground, having already told the men not to take Leigh lightly. No one listened to him, of course. And as the sixth man fell faster than the first five, he cackled like a jackal, holding his stomach as he rolled from side to side.

Several of the men yelled that if he was so amazing, then why didn't he go against her himself. He'd just rolled his eyes and explained that he had fought her before and had nothing to prove to any of them, so he wasn't going to fight her again.

Eventually they took half an hour for lunch and then came back and worked on archery. She was okay at that, but not one of the best. Periodically the king's advisor would come and pull one of the men away. The first man to be pulled returned in a little over an hour and revealed that the king was having a personal meeting with each one of them. At that, Rory had swallowed hard and shifted her right leg ever so slightly, feeling her crest rub against the rough material of her pants.

All in all, the first day was uneventful, but the men didn't disillusion themselves into believing that it would be easy. They all knew that in the morning they would be sore. The guards told them that tomorrow they'd be working on building arm and leg muscles. . . . .doing exercises and lifting sacks of flour.

------

The next morning, after going for their run and eating breakfast, they were once more led to the training grounds, only this time they entered a large pavilion without walls. She guessed to prevent heat exhaustion while the men were working. The guards began pulling the bags of flour out of a small closet while the new men lined up.

They were halfway through their first exercise when the king's advisor came in, "Leigh Danes!" he called looking around. She dropped her sack gently and stood up straight, meeting his eye. He nodded and motioned towards the door, "Come with me."

She wove her way through the men and met him right outside the building, "Yes sir?"

He started towards the castle, leaving her to follow him, "The king is meeting with each of the new men individually. You're up first today." Her mouth curved into a perfect 'O' and she nodded slowly, not that he was looking at her. He walked quickly, with long strides. She nearly limped after him, and she was sure that the 'bow-legged' look was nice. Miss Patty would be horrified that she was about to see the king, fresh in all her glory. Dried sweat plastered every inch of her skin, her hair was stiff in her bun from it, she was wearing men's clothes, and she didn't have a speck of powder on her body. No to mention that she was positive she smelled wonderful.

He led her up a few paths and then into the castle. She looked around, chewing on the insides of her cheeks. The new soldiers weren't allowed to walk around the castle. They'd only been into the foyer once; the night they came. Otherwise they used back entrances.

Once inside, his pace quickened and she sped up painfully to catch up with him. "Right this way." he went up the large staircase and she nearly swore, gritting her teeth as pain shot through her lower body. Upon reaching the top, he went left and she followed two steps behind.

They turned right and went down a corridor littered with windows. Looking outside, she saw that there were private gardens on either side. They were gorgeous, like nothing she'd ever seen. Huge and scattered with every color you could think of, with a fountain in the middle of each. Several gardeners were poking around them, making sure it looked perfect. She smiled, following the advisor down the narrow hall. . . .Rachel loved flowers.

Suddenly the man in front of her stopped. Rory glanced around, there was one door directly to their left and another one to the right, a little ways down the hall. He raised his fist and knocked several times before pushing the door open. He didn't even bother saying anything. He simply let her in and then left, closing the door behind him.

Despite her resolve to ignore him, her gaze fell on the king. She hadn't really gotten a good look at him two nights before. It'd been dark and she'd been tired. He was young. . . .well, she knew how old he was, only four more than her, but she'd never expected to find him so. . . . . .what was the word? Attractive? No, that wasn't right. She could never find him attractive. His hair was surprisingly messy, sticking up at several different angles as if he was constantly running his hands through it. He had a strong, sharp jaw and clear tanned skin. Strong arms from what she could see and long, lean muscles. At the moment he was seated behind a large desk, his elbow on the surface of it and his hand tangled in his hair, staring down at a sheet of parchment in front of him. Obviously he knew she was in the room, but was ignoring her for the moment.

He slowly looked up after a moment and his eyes fell on her. She looked away and took a step farther into the room, looking around. At last she realized it was a small library. The two longer walls of the rectangular room were made up of shelves reaching from about her hip to the ceiling. She glanced around and saw a ladder leaning against one of the walls. Very useful to get books from the upper shelves. In the middle of the wall across from the door there was a large window with a cushioned bench. She took a step closer and exhaled longingly. The perfect spot to read.

The king's desk was several feet from one of the shorter sides, so that he was looking at most of the room. The wall behind him had several large maps, and the wall across from him had an elaborate fire place with a portrait of a young man and a boy above it. She blinked slowly, taking a step towards it and looking closer. Most portraits were stuffy and unnatural, but these two looked genuinely happy, even though they weren't smiling. The man looked a lot like the king, only a few years older.

Suddenly she sensed him beside her, looking up at the picture as well, his posture straight and his hands clasped behind his back. She pressed her lips together, trying to ignore his presence. "The former king." He didn't realize she knew exactly who it was. His voice was void of emotion. She wondered if it still bothered him.

Rory gave the picture one last glance before walking over to one of the shelves, skimming over the title. She was there for only a moment before he followed her, holding out his hand, "Tristan Dugrey." She didn't look at him, simply picked up one of the books and skimmed over the first page, ignoring his presence. He cleared his throat after a moment, his hand still in the air.

"I know who you are." her gaze didn't leave the page. Out of the corner of her eye she caught his eyebrow arching. They sat in silence for a moment before he snatched the book from her hands. She looked up defiantly, an insult on the tip of her tongue. He smirked lightly and she rolled her eyes, walking away from him. "Michiavelli is lost on you."

Her back was to him, so she didn't see his eyes widen before glancing down at the book in his hand. _The Prince_. "You can read?" he asked, obviously surprised.

She glanced over at him, "Yes, I can read. I'm glad you think so highly of your people."

He shrugged, slipping the book back into it's place, "Most peasants can't read." He looked her up and down, "Especially the women." Rory turned to face him, her eyes narrowed. There was something about his expression. It was half way between disinterested, amused, and impressed.

"Well in my house, reading was always important."

He smirked, stepping closer, "That's good. I love reading." she just gave him a looked and rolled her eyes, going back over to the bookcase.

"How many of these have you read?"

"About half." her eyes widened slightly and she turned to look up at him, obviously surprised.

He smiled lightly, "I'd love to read the rest, but I rarely have time for anything." She nodded slowly, turning back to the books. "You could borrow any of them if you'd like. I don't mind." Rory didn't respond, simply pulled another book out and flipped through it. "Have you read the Decameron?" he asked, stepping closer to her.

"When I was thirteen." She didn't move, even though his closeness was making her skin tingle and her stomach drop.

He nodded slowly, glancing around his library, "Well Mary, what would you like to do."

Her head snapped up, eyes narrowed, "Mary?"

"Yes, Mary. Since you refuse to tell me your name."

"Where does Mary come from?"

He smirked and leaned into her, his breath tickling her neck as he whispered into her ear, "The holy virgin."

She jerked away from him, "What makes you so sure I'm a virgin?" she set the book down and walked over to the maps, ignoring him. He watched her walk away and crossed his arms, staring at her back. It was strange, she didn't seem impressed by him at all. The men he'd seen yesterday had practically been kissing his feet. She didn't even seem to respect him. His gaze followed her hand as it moved to sweep a strand of hair from her face; it'd gotten out of the bun at the back of her head. He chewed on his bottom lip, studying her. She was thin, but it was more of a strong, lean frame. She had slender curves and long legs that he was sure would seem to go on and on. He could only imagine what they looked like without anything covering them. Her face was unexplainable. Large, round eyes whose color rivaled the sky. Her lips were generous, a light tint to them. She had high cheekbones and a natural blush, something he'd always found undeniable, but a trait few women were blessed with.

It'd been dark when he'd seen her last, and she'd been in a crowd. Now, by herself, he saw that she was even more beautiful than he'd first expected. There was something about her, a natural allure. There were countless beauties in his court, but he didn't even know what they looked like in old clothes and without their faces made up. This girl. . . .she was gorgeous in old clothes, her hair a mess, and her face red from the heat and her training.

She walked with her shoulders squared, her head up straight. She didn't walk like a commoner. If he didn't know any better he would've said it was a learned posture, something a governess or one of the etiquette tutors in the city would teach. He walked over to her, his skin tingling ever so slightly from where his arm had grazed hers, "So what town are you from?"

"Stars Hollow." she nodded towards one of the maps and Tristan glanced over at it, finding the small dot after a moment. His uncle hadn't been lying. It really was small.

He tore his gaze from the map to look at her, "So what's your name?"

She rolled her eyes, a bored expression finding it's way onto that gorgeous face, "I'm sure you know my name."

He grinned, leaning against the wall. He most certainly did, "Why would you say that?"

She looked over at him, slightly annoyed, "Because you're the king. You wouldn't let forty men into the castle without at least checking their history, and I highly doubt that you're unintelligent enough to forget the one girl on the list." She crossed her arms, looking back at the map, "Especially the girl."

His eyebrow arched, "Oh? Why especially the girl?"

"Besides the fact that I stand out because of it? It's a known fact throughout the kingdom that you notice women."

Tristan laughed lightly, pushing himself off the wall, "Is that so?"

She looked over and met his gaze, "Yes."

He took a step closer to her, "Well maybe it's just that women _notice_ me."

Rory tried to break eye contact, but couldn't seem to, "Most people do notice the king." she swallowed as he took a step closer, "But you didn't get that title for anything that you yourself have done, so don't be so smug." She looked away, walking to sit in his chair. She pulled her knees to her chest and looked over the document he'd been reading. Tristan opened his mouth to yell at her, but closed it instead. It wasn't like it was very important, just something to do with the outer villages and them wanting more protection. He couldn't believe she was so forward. He walked around to the front of the table and rested his hands on it, leaning forward as he watched her eyes dart across the page. She glanced up at him after a moment, "You haven't signed it."

His lip quirked, "Very observant."

She ignored his condescending reply, "Why not?"

He shrugged dismissively, "I haven't decided if I want to give it to them yet." Her lips parted slightly and her eyes narrowed in disgust. She opened her mouth wider to give him what he was sure would be a biting insult, but he cut her off, rolling his eyes, "Kidding. I just haven't gotten around to it yet." She closed her mouth slowly, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. They sat in silence for a moment, her looking around the room and him staring at her. "You don't like me." She didn't respond, "You don't know me, and yet you really just don't like me."

She stood from the chair and walked over to the window seat, ignoring him. "I never said I didn't like you."

He stayed at the table, but turned to look at her, "You didn't have to." She sat and crossed her legs Indian style, letting her shoulders slouch as she looked out the window. "Have I done something to offend you?"

She didn't respond, just shrugged. After a moment she spoke, "You're the king. At one point or another you've done something to offend every member of your kingdom."

He opened his mouth, but closed it quickly. No one had ever spoken to him like this. It wasn't that he surrounded himself with flatterers, people just didn't talk to the king like she was. Not if they valued their life, anyway. He walked over to her slowly. Obviously he had done something, but he wasn't about to ask her about it. It wasn't like he actually cared. He didn't even know her. "So what's your name?" he asked, crossing his arms and leaning against the shelf as he grinned.

Rory looked over at him, smiling lightly. He wasn't like she expected, "You tell me."

"Hmm." he sat down on the bench and leaned his back against the wall, "So many options."

She bit her lip, grinning as he stroked his chin. "Leigh."

He smiled at her, licking his bottom lip, "Beautiful name." She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. "So Leigh, I hear you're an amazing fighter."

"Oh yeah?"

He nodded, "Rumor had it that you and Nicholas Dreeden are the best."

Her head cocked back, "Really?"

"Really."

"Huh."

They sat in silence for a moment, Rory thinking over what he'd said, while he was watching her. "Are you?"

She looked over at him and shrugged, "I don't know. Yesterday I beat six of the other men, but then we broke for lunch."

He was silent for a moment, "Who were they?" Rory sighed, thinking for a moment as she slowly listed their names. His eyes widened with each name, but she was staring off into space, trying to picture each face. She looked at him once she finished and he chewed on the insides of his cheeks, thinking. "How long did it take you to beat them?"

She shrugged, "Not very long." He was silent, studying her. She shifted uncomfortably as his eyes raked her body, "What?"

He licked his lips before pressing them together, folding his arms over his chest, "How old are you?"

She looked down, biting her bottom lip, "Seventeen."

His eyes widened and his head cocked forward, "What?"

Rory glanced up at him, still biting her lip, "I'm seventeen."

"And you beat the six of them that quickly?"

"Yes." she said modestly, blushing.

He exhaled a long breath, "Wow." She smiled lightly, unsure of what to say. His gaze leveled with hers and he just stared, his face void of emotion, sensing that she was uncomfortable. He'd had no idea she was that young. He'd thought she was at least nineteen. Maybe twenty or twenty one. . .but seventeen? She was still a child. He saw that she shifted again, looking away form him and biting her lip. He unfolded his arms, trying to think of something to say to make her more comfortable, "So, how long have you been training?"


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I don't own Gilmore Girls or _The Praise of Folly._

The next morning Rory and Nick were sitting next to each other after their morning run, their legs out in front of them as they leaned forward, grabbing their ankles to stretch. "So have you heard?" he asked, turning to look at her.

Rory switched from her right leg to her left, pulling her body closer to the ground, "Heard what?"

"About the king's birthday." he switched legs as well.

"His birthday is coming up?" she asked, rocking her body back and forth lightly.

He nodded, "All the men are talking about it. You must have been with him yesterday when they told me."

"Will he be twenty two?" she asked, counting under her breath.

"Yeah. All of his friends are coming for the celebration."

She turned her head to stare at him, "What?"

"His friends. The nobles he grew up with. You know of Finnegan Morgan? The drunken womanizing prince of Gildren?"

"Yes." Rory said slowly, releasing her leg and sitting up straight.

Nick mimicked her movement, "Well he and the king were best friends as children. The two of them grew up with several of the most prominent nobles in the kingdom. They're all coming to stay at the castle. Prince Finnegan will come, Madeline Lynn, Colin McRae, Paris Gellar, Louise Grant, Henry Cho, and the king's cousin Stephanie Mullin." Nick stood and began stretching his arms, "They're arriving next week and will stay for a week."

Rory nodded slowly, switching arms, "And why does this interest all the men?"

"Because-" he rolled his neck in a circle, glancing up at the clouded sky, "-the king was supposed to be married on his twenty first birthday, but he refused the bride his mother and advisors picked for him." his gaze went over to her, "The men are hoping that's why he's brought his friends. To make the announcement that he's finally found a bride." Rory still gave him a strange look and he grinned, "Every loyal subject is interested in getting a new queen."

Rory sighed heavily, allowing her arm to fall limply by her side. She could no longer feel her hands or feet. The rain beat down on her back and lightning tore through the sky. When it had started raining, the men assumed that they'd spend the day indoors. Apparently not, though. The guards had told them that it was perfect to practice in the rain. . . .especially since it was so bad. They had to be prepared for anything. It was impossible to make out the faces of the men sitting in a ring around them through the rain. She narrowed her eyes, but couldn't make out who'd risen from the circle to go against her next.

She rolled her neck in a circle, trying to relieve the tension. Why did she always have to be the one that never got a break? She'd already fought twelve men in a row, and hadn't lost once, by the way. Even though she was exhausted and they were fresh, she easily won each round. The man in front of her held up his sword and she touched the tip of hers to it lightly before they both got into stance. She stepped right and so did he, circling each other slowly. The rain prevented her from seeing the muscles of his arms or hands clenching, meaning she couldn't predict his movements. Suddenly he lunged to her right, but she quickly deflected it, knocking him off balance. He slipped slightly, not yet used to the wet ground. She, however, had been standing for nearly an hour and knew how to shift her weight on the soaked grass. She took full advantage of his weakness and delivered three quick blows. The first, which he blocked easily, disoriented him further. The second, which he prevented from meeting it's mark as well, pushed him to the ground, and the third left him on his back, her foot resting heavily on his chest.

The two guards acting as supervisors clapped quickly, breaking them up. Rory removed her foot from his chest, not even breathing heavily this time. Easy. It was almost to her advantage that the men still thought of her as weak. They underestimated her and almost never had their guard up when fighting her. Of course, most were beginning to realize that she could kill them if she were so inclined. Those were the ones who started to fight harder.

"We're heading in. This lightning is getting dangerous." one of them yelled out to the group. The men stood, mumbling about finally getting out of the rain. The guard rolled his eyes and looked over at Rory, nodding, "Good work, Danes."

She nodded slowly, silently despising all of them for forcing her to prove herself over and over. They all did it, even the guards didn't think anything of her. "Thank you, sir." She actually didn't mind this guard much, though. What was his name? Mark? He was one of the good ones. One of the ones that didn't judge her for being a woman. A few of the guards and men had actually made. . . .lewd comments towards her in the beginning, but had suddenly stopped two days ago. She'd heard two guards talking about it, and apparently the king had gotten wind that she was being disrespected. He'd punished the guards and given a strict warning to the new men that if he ever heard of any of his guard disrespecting a woman again, they would pay dearly.

She pushed her hair out of her eyes and followed the men towards the castle. They'd only been a few yards from the side entrance that led to their portion of the military wing. It surprised her that the king didn't like men disrespecting women. Besides the fact that his sexual escapades were known throughout the kingdom, he was rumored to be like his father, who she knew for a fact didn't have the slightest respect for women.

"So you really are the best?"

Speak of the devil. She looked over to her right as she stepped into the doorway. Tristan was leaning against it with his arms folded, having watched their practice. "What?"

He smirked, pushing himself off the wall and holding the door open for her, seeing as she was the last one to enter, "You can beat any of them."

She rolled her eyes, "And it seems as if that theory is being put to the test."

His smirk turned into a grin as he fell into step next to her, walking down the corridor towards her room. "You'll have to prove yourself more than any of them."

She looked over at him, her mouth open in mock surprise, "Really?" he smirked, beginning to reply, but he was cut off.

"You highness." a man was kneeling in one of the doorways they passed, and Tristan looked over, rolling his eyes. Rory turned to look at the man, and he raised his head once Tristan couldn't see him anymore and shot Rory a dirty look. God, did they have to hate her?

He turned to her and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off again, "My lord." another new soldier.

The king didn't even try to hide his annoyance as he stopped and turned to the man Rory recognized as McKellin, "What?"

"What did you think of our practice?"

"I think you need to work harder if you want to survive in an actual fight. Less than five of you would even be of any use to me at the moment. The other thirty five would simply be cushion in an attack." The man's eyes were slightly wide, surprised by the king's acidic and slightly sarcastic tone. "Any other questions?"

He shook his head, swallowing hard as he looked down. Tristan didn't say anything, and he began walking again. Rory followed him and they walked in silence. "You're mean."

"What?" he didn't even bother to look at her.

"You're mean to the men."

"I'm not mean, I just don't appreciate flattery that means nothing." he glanced over at her,  
"There's a difference between someone asking an honest question and someone trying to get on your good side."

"But you're nice to me." she said slowly, watching him as they walked. He glanced over at her,  
but didn't say anything. "Don't you like them?"

He shrugged, "I don't know them."

"You don't know me either. So why aren't you like that to me?"

"Maybe you don't annoy me like everyone else."

She laughed, "Maybe?"

He smirked, "Maybe." Funny, she'd thought she drove him crazy. Suddenly he stopped walking, "This is your room, isn't it?"

"Oh." she looked at the closed door, "Yes, it is. Thanks for walking me." she turned the handle and started to push the door open.

"Have a nice dinner, Mary." Rory smiled and turned to comment, but he was already walking down the hall.

Rory laid on her cot that night, laughing and talking with her three room mates. She actually liked them. The other two were cousins from a village on the opposite side of the kingdom from Stars Hollow. Dorian was seventeen and Callum was nineteen. They were definitely the comic relief of the new wave of soldiers, offering playful insults and the obvious shortcomings of all the men to lighten the mood of their merciless training.

"Okay, so anyway, McKellin is more of a woman than you. I swear he was so mad that the king was walking with you through the hall. Personally I think he's just jealous, and I told him that he needed to stop being so interested because the other men who sleep in his room were starting to get nervous. That was when he-" Callum was cut off as the door opened and torchlight cut through the pitch black of the room.

"Leigh Danes?"

She sat up, "Yes?"

"Come with me."

The three men sat up as Rory slid out of her bed, "Where are you taking her?" Dorian asked quickly. They'd all become rather protective of her in the past week.

"Don't worry about it." the man stepped into the hall, allowing Rory to exit the room. "Get some rest you'll need it for tomorrow." The three began to protest, but the door was shut with a clean click. He turned to face her, and she recognized him as Brad Langford, one of the assistants to the general. He didn't actually fight, of course. He was more of an errand boy. She was surprised he'd spoken to them like that. He'd always seemed to be scared of everyone.

"Where are we going?" she asked as he led her up some stairs.

"I'm not supposed to tell you." he answered, not looking at her.

She wrapped her arms around herself, glancing down at her nightclothes. They weren't proper, of course. Some of Nick's pants that he'd brought from home, which she'd stolen because they were like a pair of Jess's that she used to fight him for, and a thin top of Callum's that had ripped and wasn't fit to wear anymore.

They came to a door on the second floor of the castle and Brad pushed it open, nudging her in. She blinked rapidly, holding her hand up to block out the sudden light. "What the. . . . ." she trailed off, looking around. The room was light and very feminine. It reminded her of her mother's powder room in their old Hartford mansion. Sconces lined the walls, holding at least a dozen torches. A large vanity rested against one wall with a stately mirror. Another full length mirror adorned the corner. A wardrobe and changing screen were at one end of the room and in the center there was a bathtub filled with water and soap. She glanced over at it, her eyes wide. She hadn't seen a tub since the night she left the city. No one owned one in Stars Hollow.

There was a muffled shriek from the corner, and that was when she realized an older woman was in the room. Rory turned to look at her and saw a horrified expression. "Dear God!"

Rory's eyes widened, "What?"

"Child, what is wrong with your hair?" she cried, walking quickly over to the door and pushed Brad out, closing it behind him before circling Rory, "And your clothes? And your face? Filthy"  
she began poking at Rory's body, "Dear Lord, and I hear you've talked to the king like that? Oh my, heaven have mercy."

"Hey!" Rory began to protest, but she was cut off as the woman began bumping her forward.

"Go on, into the tub. Go. It'll take at least one change of water to get you clean." she rambled, pulling Rory's clothes off as she went. The girl protested loudly, but was no match for the experienced maid. Her grip was like iron, but her hands were warm. By the time they'd crossed the fifteen feet to the tub, Rory was stark naked. "In! In! We don't have all night."

Rory got in quickly and the woman immediately pushed her head under. Rory flailed awkwardly, not having been forewarned. As her head broke the surface and she started sputtering, the maid's strong fingers began working Rory's hair into a lather of soap. "Excuse me!" Rory said loudly, but the woman ignored her, shoving a stiff sponge at the girl.

"Here. Scrub." was all she said, and as Rory's complaints gradually subsided as they fell on deaf ears.

Fifteen minutes later she was pulled roughly from the tub, the woman's wizened pincers gripping her arm and dragging her up. Rory looked down, she was covered in suds. Luckily they covered her thighs and her crest. But God, all the rubbing had left her feeling completely raw. The last time she'd had anything that resembled a respectable bath was when the new men had arrived and they'd been washed down with lye to kill any bugs on them. "Come, come. Hurry." she threw a large terrycloth around the girl and dragged her from the tub. "Dry off quickly. We don't have all day." She forced Rory to the chair of the vanity quickly and rubbed her head with another towel in an attempt to pull some of the water from her hair. She rubbed the strands between the towel and once the old wench was satisfied she grabbed a coarse toothed brush and began running it through Rory's hair.

"Ow!" she yelled, ducking her head.

The grey haired drone grabbed her chin with an iron claw and held her in place, "That's the price of beauty, dearie. Now hold still!" She raked it through, getting all the kinks out. By the time she finished, Rory hair was nearly dry and she swore that half it was gone and her scalp had open wounds. But at least she could finally run her fingers through it. "Now, behind the curtain is your nightgown. Go put it on. Quickly now."

Rory stood, her eyes narrowed, "What's going-"

"Now!"

The girl sighed, rolling her eyes as she waltzed behind the curtain. She emerged a few minutes later, the nightgown in place. "I'm not wearing this. What the hell is going on?"

The old woman walked over to her and began lacing up the back tightly, forcing all the breath from Rory, "Not the time for questions." her skilled hands finished the job quickly and she grabbed the girl's arm, leading her to the vanity again and forcing her to sit in the chair, "And you will wear it."

"No, I-"

"Look at me." When Rory didn't cooperate the woman grabbed her chin and forced her to.

"Geez, fine. Let me go." Her chin was released and Rory faced her as the woman began to powder her chest. She couldn't believe she was wearing this nightgown. It was white, with small cap sleeves and a very low, square neck line. Very thin cotton covered her chest and three buttons ran down the center. It corseted beautifully down the back, shaping and defining her figure and pushing her chest up. It was fitted to her hips and then flared slightly, flirting around her knees. It was gorgeous and she could admit that she filled it out very nicely, but was also the most immodest thing she'd ever worn in her life. She wondered what in the world was going on.

Rory sneezed violently and the woman rolled her eyes, "Are you done?"

She rubbed her nose, shaking her head quickly to clear it, "I don't know, are you?"

"No." the woman grabbed pink rouge, but Rory ducked her head.

"No. I hate that. I'm not wearing it."

"Oh yes you are."

"No!" Rory stood quickly, her hair that had dried into gentle waves fell around her face, framing it in a halo, "I let you put your damn powder on me, but I will not wear that."

The woman rolled her eyes, "Your mistake. You need to go anyway."

"Go where?" but the woman was already pushing her towards the door. "What in the world"  
the door opened to reveal Brad.

"Are you ready?"

The woman shot her a dirty look, "As ready as she'd going to get."

Rory looked between the two uncertainly, "Wha. . . . ."

"Go." the woman pushed her and shut the door with a snap.

Brad sighed and grabbed her elbow, leading her down the corridor, "Come on."

Tristan sat in the lounge of his suite, reading _The Praise of Folly_. He'd never really been able to concentrate on the book, but now he wasn't having so bad a time about it. He was sitting sideways on the large couch, leaning against the arm with his feet planted firmly on the cushion.

Suddenly he heard movement out in the hall on the other side of his door. He closed his book, sitting upright and listening harder. There was a dull crash, a muffled scream, and curse before his door was opened and someone was pushed in, the door snapping shut quickly. His eyes widened as they fell on Leigh. She stood three feet into the room, her hair slightly messy from an obvious struggle and her mouth open slightly in surprise. Her eyes were wide as well as she watched him sit perfectly still.

He looked over her face and at her hair. It was clean, wavy and full like he hadn't seen it. It'd always either been wet or up. Her skin had a soft glow to it, she'd obviously had a bath. Her lips looked plumper and her eyes were clear and large. Tristan grinned inwardly as her look of shock turned to one of contempt. She bit the insides of her cheeks and lowered her head a fraction, crossing her arms over her chest to preserve a last shred of modesty. She looked amazing covered in dirt and sweat. But when she was clean. . . .she radiated a mix of seduction and innocence. His eyes trailed from her face down her body. _Dear God._

"Oh God." He stood and grabbed his robe from a hook on the wall and threw it to her, forcing himself to look away. Covering up that body was a crime. She caught it easily and slid her arms into it, cinching it around the waist tightly. Once it was in place she blushed, looking away from him.

She stood awkwardly, glancing around the room. Once she was decent, Tristan looked back over at her and sat down again, his hand over his mouth to hide his amusement. He looked at her neck where her skin was brushing the robe and saw a minuscule white patch. Powder. Damn it she looked angry. He glanced away awkwardly, not sure of what to do. "Uh, did Brad just scream?"

"Oh," she glanced toward the door she'd just been shoved thorough, "Um, yeah. I threw him into the wall."

Tristan laughed and Rory exhaled heavily, chewing on her bottom lip, and they sat in silence for a few minutes. "So," she said slowly, "These are your rooms."

He nodded, relieved that they now had a conversation piece. "Yeah. The sleeping chamber is through that door-" he pointed to his left, "-and there's a dressing room attached to it. Over there is the study-" he pointed to the opposite wall, "-a sitting room, a door to the nursery, and a powder room."

Rory smirked, momentarily forgetting the situation, "I always figured you used a powder room."

He pursed his lips, eyebrow arching, "Oh you're hilarious. It's for the queen."

She grinned, "And a nursery?" she was actually surprised about that one.

Tristan shrugged, glancing over at the door, "My father insisted that it be turned into one when I was born."

Rory nodded slowly, looking around the room as she chewed on the insides of her cheeks thoughtfully. "So, do you mind telling me what this is about?"

"What what is about?" Rory turned and gave him a pointed look. He grinned innocently, "Oh, you mean you being shoved into my room in the middle of the night in that wonderful outfit?"

She rolled her eyes, "Yes, I believe that would be in the forefront of my mind."

Tristan smirked, leaning back, "I said something to a friend and guess it was taken literally."

"Ahh." her eyebrow arched, but she didn't say anymore, and took a step deeper into the room, looking around. She made her way over to a small table and looked over the array of books littering the top.

Tristan watched her sift through the titles and smirked, standing from his seat and walking over to her. He leaned down to whisper into her ear, "See anything you might be interested in?"

Rory jumped slightly, not having realized he was behind her. She turned quickly, her eyes wide at his closeness. She could feel the heat radiating from his body. Suddenly a warm sensation spread through her stomach like wildfire; it was like he was crawling under her skin. She took a step back, swallowing, "Actually, I've read most of them."

"Really?" he took a step closer, and she took a step back, "You're very well read for a commoner."

Rory stepped back again, this time further away than the previous two, "Thank you."

This time he didn't step forward, but stopped, smirking, "Are you scared of me?"

She stared up at him, her voice wavering slightly, "No."

Tristan smirked and leaned closer so that their faces were mere inches apart. She flinched lightly, but he ignored it, "You know, Mary, for all the things I see in you, I never took you for a liar."

She swallowed hard, blinking to ward off her lightheadedness, "Huh." she said breathily, her eyes fluttering. It was a feeling she'd never experienced before, like just from his mere presence he was forcing his was inside of her. "I never took you for a Christian."

He smirked slowly, a throaty chuckle escaping from his lips. She blinked again, her skin crawling as his warm breath danced over her bare collarbone and throat. "You're witty." his eyebrow arched, "Cute."

Rory inhaled deeply to steady herself and took a step back, "I try." His smirked widened and he licked his bottom lip absentmindedly, sitting down and leaning back in his chair as his eyes studied every inch of her body. She tightened his robe around her and his smirk just widened before he looked away from her. They sat in a tense silence for several minutes until she broke it, "So what did you say that your friend took literally?"

He looked over at her slowly, obviously trying to think of a way to put it that was suitable for a teenage girl to hear. "Whenever there's an attractive new servant, she's sent to me within the first few nights of coming." he fell silent for a moment and her eyes narrowed dangerously, but he began again before she could speak, "The first night you came here I said something to my cousin about it, but that was before I'd met you."

Her mouth was open, she was just waiting for her rage to finish building. She couldn't believe this. She had actually talked to him, let her guard down and joked with him. She couldn't believe he was exactly like his father. She felt stupid. Stupid and ignorant. It was common knowledge that he could talk any woman into bed, make anyone believe anything he said, but she'd thought she was smarter than that. He'd almost made her forget he was exactly what everyone said he was. Finally she was able to speak, "I'm not your servant."

"I know-"

She cut him off, ranting acidly, "I was forced here to be in your guard. I didn't want to come, and I still don't want to be here. If your life is in danger, I'll fight for it. That is the only thing that will happen between us. I will never sleep with you."

He held his hands up in surrender, obviously not offended, "Fine."

She sighed heavily, her jaw set forward in disgust as she shook her head slightly, "So I assume they were all virgins."

His face didn't change, the bored expression etched into it, "The servants, yes. But if you're asking whether I've only ever slept with virgins-"

She cut him off, "God, you are disgusting. I can't believe that. I mean, I've heard of things like that but I never-"

He cut her off, still speaking lazily. He seemed unaffected; she had no way to know that her being disgusted with him was cutting him deeper and deeper every time she opened her mouth. God, why did it hurt to have her think so little of him? "Look, it's just what happens, okay? If you're not interested then I'll keep my hands to myself." She just snorted and rolled her eyes. His eyebrows arched and his head cocked back, "What?"

She glanced over at him before shaking her head, "Nothing."

"Out with it."

"It's nothing."

"You know, you can speak your mind. I don't care if women give their opinions on things, even though I'm sure it wouldn't stop you if I did."

She rolled her eyes again, "It's just, I'm sure the fact that I'm not interested wouldn't stop you from getting what you wanted."

He stilled and his eyes narrowed dangerously, "Excuse me?"

She shook her head, "It wouldn't stop you."

He stood up quickly, glaring at her, but his voice was calm and quiet, "I have _never_ forced a woman into my bed. How dare you accuse me of that."

The atmosphere in the room was different. Dangerous and taught. He'd changed, become harder and colder. She could practically feel his anger pulsating through the room. It amazed her that the single thing that had ruined both of their lives and families. . . . .the very thing his father had been guilty of, seemed to repulse him more than any other insult she could have some up with. Rory looked over at him, almost pityingly. She could tell he really hadn't, at least, not in his mind, ever forced himself on a woman. Her head shook gently, "You're the king. No woman would tell you she didn't want you."

He stayed frozen, his eyes never changing, but his silence told her that he was thinking over her words. "Get out."

She sighed, not wanting to leave him with only that. She hadn't meant for it to sound to cruel, "You're the king, and you're not a bad person, but no girl wants to lose her virginity to someone who doesn't care about her. You-"

He cut her off again, "I said get out!"

Rory cringed, closing her eyes. Her head bowed and she whispered, "Yes, your highness." before turning around and opening the door just enough for her to squeeze out. She closed it softly behind her, and not ten feet down the hall she heard something hit the closed door and a muffled curse. She hadn't meant to upset him so much that he'd begin throwing things.

It worried her, though, that she didn't want to hurt him. It worried her that she was beginning to care. She was supposed to hate him. When had she stopped? Rory shivered against the night air as she shuffled down the chilly corridor with bare feet. When had she stopped hating the man who'd murdered her family? Had it been that afternoon when he'd joked with her and called her Mary? Had it been when she'd seen the nursery and the way he would obviously care for his children? When she'd realized he was human? It took her nearly the entire walk back to the guards' quarters; which was a considerable distance, and a lot to say since she was a very intelligent girl.

It'd been when she realized he would never wittingly take away something from a girl that she didn't want to give him. When she saw that he would have been repulsed by what his father had done to her mother and sister. It was when she realized that he wasn't his father. He wasn't heartless. Of course, part of her still hated him for what he'd done, but wasn't that the way it was always taken are of? If a man murdered the king, wasn't it custom to have his entire family killed?

Rory sighed heavily, pushing open the door to her room and making her way to her cot silently. The other three were still awake, and she heard their covers rustle as they sat up. "Leigh? What was that about?"

"Nothing."

"Leigh." Callum said, not believing her.

She got under the covers, curling up, "The king just wanted to make sure the men weren't making lewd comments anymore. You know how mad he got when he found out."

"Mmm." they obviously didn't believe her, but they were tired, and the four soon drifted into silence. Rory laid back, sighing heavily. She couldn't sleep. He wasn't who she'd thought he was. There was something in his room, when he was playing with her. His eyes had been different. Her thoughts trailed to his life, and she realized that he must be lonely if talking to a peasant girl who refused to sleep with him and all but accused him of forcing himself upon virgins, brought him joy.

She settled into bed and relaxed, just now noticing that she still had on his robe. She pulled it tighter around herself, wondering why she found it comforting. Slowly relaxing, her mind wandered back to his eyes when they'd changed. He really was different than his father. Maybe he hadn't wanted her family dead, but had been forced to it because of tradition. Or maybe he had wanted them killed, but now regretted his rash actions. After all, it had been within three days of his father's death that he'd ordered all the Gilmores and Haydens murdered, and he'd only been twelve. He wasn't even the same person anymore. She sank deeper into his garment, breathing in his scent. Maybe she had been wrong about him after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Rory sat at the long table in the dining hall, standing behind her chair and staring up at the head table. The general's son Logan was speaking to them about how well their training was going. They'd all gotten washed up and were being given a banquet because their first two weeks were through, the hardest time of training because you were training your body to get used to the vigorous schedule. 

Throughout the speech, Tristan had been looking over the men from his seat, watching each of them. She'd tried to catch his eye, but he'd skipped over her and was now refusing to pay her any attention, even though he knew she was watching him. She could tell he was tense, and had been for days.

She'd been sent to his room her fourth night there, and since then he hadn't spoken to her or so much as acknowledged her presence. It annoyed her because she knew he'd liked being around her, and in all honesty she missed talking to him, which was strange because she'd only conversed with him for three days. Maybe he just needed time to digest what she'd said to him, or maybe he'd decided that anyone who spoke to him like an equal didn't deserve to be in his presence. Rory chewed on the insides of her cheeks as she watched him, his gaze still dancing over the men. She could still feel his breath on her cheek and the heat from his body. Perhaps he didn't want to be around her because she refused to sleep with him and that was what he'd been after all along.

Rory was pulled from her musings when the men began clapping loudly before pulling out their chairs and sitting. She looked around, not having noticed that Logan was finished with his speech. Forgoing the applause, she simply pulled out her seat and joined the men already digging into the numerous dishes placed before them. Although she was starving, she couldn't get her thoughts off of him and couldn't help herself from stealing another glance. He was sitting still, all the men at the head table had been throughout Logan's speech. The polished ground it rested on was raised up two feet from the rest of the dining hall. She glanced around, knowing that this was the hall for informal entertaining. The first, grander dinning hall had one long table rather than a raised platform and three tables. Besides, it was for entertaining other monarchs, where you didn't want to offend anyone by putting them below you.

His seat was in the middle, Max Medina to his right and General Huntzburger to his left. The table also contained the heads of the military, including Logan. At the lower level where their table was situated, there was another table identical to theirs with the old guard, including both the king and queen's personal guard. The queen's guard was something she hadn't been aware of until she began training. The king had his personal guard of forty to fifty men, they were not only his guard, but the protectors of all the royal family. After each king was married and his wife was coronated, the couple would choose eight of the men to be the queen's personal guard. The sole purpose of those eight men was to protect the queen. Not the heir, not the king, but the queen. At first she would have thought that this was a position men would feel degraded them and insulted their abilities, but according to the men it was the highest honor a personal guard could receive. Especially if the king married for love. If a king married for love then he would generally choose the best eight men to be in his wife's guard.

Rory had yet to spot the queen in her two weeks stay, but she knew that Tristan wasn't close to his mother. She watched him at the front table, leaning slightly to the right as Max spoke quietly into his ear. He was listening intently, focusing on the tabletop. Rory couldn't help but admire his strong jawline, the veins in his temple flexing as his teeth ground slightly. Would he choose the eight best men in his guard? She decided he would, whether he loved his wife or not. He would choose the best for the simple fact that his wife would carry his children, and she knew that he would love his children.

Rory suddenly realized that rather than tanned skin, her mind was now processing blue. She blinked rapidly, pressing her lips together. He'd turned and was now staring at her, their gazes locked in eternal pools of azure and sapphire. He looked surprised, as if he'd just felt her gaze on him and turned as soon as he became aware. Like he would never keep her waiting. She swallowed hard, clenching her hands under the table, willing herself to break contact, but he refused to let her. His uncle leaned over and muttered something to him. He didn't break contact with her immediately, but his eyes visibly hardened, his mind slowly beginning to creak once more into action. She saw his lips move in response, his eyes still with hers. The general said something else and Tristan turned to look at him, breaking the spell.

Rory slumped back in her seat, strangely drained. She flexed her hands, trying to get blood to flow through them. "You alright, Leigh?" A voice beside her surprised her out of her stupor.

"Hmm?" she turned to face Callum, his dusty blonde hair sweeping into his eyes as he licked the chicken bone he'd just cleaned.

"You okay? You're kind of out of it. And you're not eating. I'd have thought you'd be on your second plate by now."

She was still shaken up, but forced a light laugh and hit him playfully on the arm, "Pass me the turkey."

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During their lunch break the next day, Rory was sitting on the grass with Nick, Dorian, and Callum, discussing the king's upcoming birthday and guessing at when his friends would arrive. Well, _they_ were guessing. She honestly couldn't care less about his friends but, as always, as soon as his name was mentioned she was pulled back into her thoughts of him. She still wasn't quite sure where they stood. It was impossible for her to decide if she hated him or not. There was just something about him that was so different when they were alone.

"Leigh."

Her gaze rose up as someone spoke her name, "Yes?"

It was one of the guards, "The king wants to see you." The three boys she was with exchanged unsteady glances, but she stood and followed the man without looking back at her friends. She followed him up to the castle and through one of the back doors they used, thinking back. Two nights after her encounter with Tristan, she'd given one of the maids his robe and told them to return it to him. The woman had shot her a dirty look, but remained silent. The next day when he'd come to watch their practice, his eyes hadn't left her the whole time. Of course she'd refused to respond or pay him any attention, and that was the last time he looked at her.

Before she realized it the guard had brought her to Tristan's study and the door was being opened, the guard allowing her to walk inside before closing it sharply. She stood awkwardly, looking around. Tristan was seated at his desk, chewing on the insides of his cheeks as he read a sheet of parchment on his desk. Rory didn't move; he obviously knew she was there, but wasn't done reading. She didn't step further inside like she had last time. Instead she was still, biting her bottom lip. What did he want now?

Tristan looked up at her, as if having read her thoughts. He leaned back in his chair, nodding towards one in front of his desk, "Sit." It was an invitation more so than a command, but with everything that had happened in the past weeks, she didn't know how to take it and silently obeyed, resting her hands in her lap. He eyed her emotionlessly, chewing on the insides of his cheeks. "I've been considering your situation over the past few days, trying to decide what to do about your position in my guard." Tristan paused and her eyes narrowed slightly, uncertain of what he was talking about. "I've decided you won't fight. The king's guard is no place for a woman, especially a child."

Rory's jaw dropped slightly, her eyes narrowing further. She wouldn't be in the guard? What was the point of even bringing her here in the first place? "What?"

"You won't fight."

She shook her head in disbelief, "Is this because I wouldn't sleep with you?"

The muscles in Tristan's jaw clenched and she saw his anger flare, "This has nothing to do with our personal feelings towards each other." his eyes were hard, his gaze relentless and dangerously empty as he regarded her. "I was raised to protect women with my life and regard them above myself. Because of this I could never knowingly put you in danger, simply because my conscience would not allow it. It's a value my father instilled in me until his death- you might say it was one of his convictions."

She stared at him, pressing her lips together. His eyes had never left her and she had the strange sensation that he was looking into her and through her all at the same time, his unwavering gaze piercing every inch of her until she was unfolded and lying exposed before him. It unnerved her to no end, and she subconsciously crossed her arms over her chest in an attempt to block him from her mind, "So then I can go home?"

Tristan chewed on the insides of his cheeks, watching her silently. He'd planned to say yes. He'd planned to get her away from his as quickly as possible, because honestly, he didn't trust himself around her. He didn't trust her. The things her eyes did to him. . . .it was a bad idea to keep her around. But for some reason he couldn't bring himself to say it. Suddenly hearing her say it made it more real, made it palpable. She would be gone. The one fresh breath of air in his whole stagnant life would be shut out. And he couldn't bring himself to do it. He hated her, oh yes he hated her. Honestly wished he'd never met her. He cursed his uncle for bringing her here, for forcing him to feel something. In the short time he'd been with her and bantered, he'd felt something in him stir that he hadn't felt in years. He knew all this and still wished she'd just disappear, but for some reason he heard himself answer in a different way than he planned, "No."

She shook her head, obviously upset, "What? Why not?"

He leaned forward on his desk, looking her in the eye, "You're the best of all of them. I need you here to help them train."

Rory shook her head, "You have the best soldiers in the country in your guard, why do you need me-"

He cut her off, "Leigh, you training with them will help, if only to push them harder so that they won't be beat by you." She bit her insides of her cheeks, crossing her arms over her chest as she leaned back in the chair, refusing to look at him. "It will only be for a few months."

She sighed heavily, crossing her arms tighter, it wasn't like he was giving he a choice. She couldn't just tell the king that she didn't feel like doing what he asked of her. Finally her gaze fell back on him, "Will I stay with the men?"

He shook his head slowly, "No. You'll stay in the main part of the castle. Anna, the maid who you met a few weeks ago will be your personal lady-" she opened her mouth to protest, but he ignored her, "-you'll be expected to attend certain events, nothing too painful."

She watched him, her head tilted slightly, "What kind of events?"

Tristan shrugged, "Banquets, festivals, that sort of thing."

Her mouth opened slightly as she slowly nodded, uncertain of what to say. "Okay." she whispered slowly, "Can I go now?"

He nodded before looking down at his desk, continuing his work. Rory stood and made her way to the door, shooting him a last glance before exiting, but he didn't look up. "Should I go back to them now?" she asked, standing in the doorway.

Tristan still didn't spare her a glance, "No. They're only conditioning today. Brad is at the end of the hall. He'll escort you to your room."

She nodded, stepping out and closing the door behind her, leaning against the cool wood as her legs shook slightly, gripping the doorknob for support. She couldn't believe she was staying.

Tristan looked up as the door clicked closed, swearing under his breath. What had possessed him to do that? He didn't want her here. He couldn't handle her here.

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Rory sat on her new bed, amazed at the way it felt. She hadn't slept on a real mattress since she was eight. Anna was flitting around the room, explaining the customs of the court to her new charge, but Rory wasn't listening. Instead her mind was with the men training outside. What would Nick, Callum, and Dorian say? They were probably going insane with worry as it was.

"Ready?"

Rory glanced over at Anna, "Hmm?"

"Are you ready?" the old woman asked, picking up a large jar from the sun bathed windowsill.

Rory's nose wrinkled as she stared at the thick amber liquid sliding slowly in the glass, "What is that?"

Anna took a light, thin piece of smooth wood from her pocket and several large cloth strips,  
"Wax. Take off your skirt."

Her eyes widened as she jumped to her feet, still on the bed, "Why?"

She sighed impatiently, "So I can wax your legs, dearie. Haven't you been listening?"

"No."

The old woman rolled her eyes, "Young people." she looked at Rory, "Now take off that pretty little skirt and let me see your legs."

"Why? All my skirts go to my ankles-"

She was cut off, "Yes, your skirts do, but it's custom. The king won't like rough legs-"

Her eyes widened, "The king? What does he have to do with this?"

"It's custom. His highness would much rather you be smooth. It's nothing personal, darling. Just the way it is." she grabbed Rory's ankle and pulled her down.

She fell in a very unladylike way and scampered quickly to the other side of the bed, her anger rising. Was this what he'd planned? Was this the reason he'd wanted her to stay? "What in the world are you talking about? When will the king ever be around my legs?"

Anna looked up at Rory, shocked, "Well I'm sure I don't know, Miss Danes. That's up to him."

She shook her head, dodging the old hands as they grabbed for her. "You have it all wrong. I'm here to help train the men. Tristan and I won't-" she stopped, grunting as Anna finally grabbed her hand. "Let me go!"

"No. I'm sorry Miss Danes. I have my duties to make you acceptable for the king and I can't skimp on my work." she forced Rory into a straight backed chair, but the girl was up as soon as Anna's hands left her.

"You are not going to wax my legs." her skin tingled just at the thought of the pain that would be in store if the old woman got a hold of her.

"Miss Danes, if you don't cooperate with me now I'll have to bring someone in to hold you down."

Rory shook her head, moving farther away from her, "Well if this is for the king then why didn't you do it the night I was sent to his room?"

"I didn't have time. The redness and swelling wouldn't have gone down by the time you got to him." she motioned to the chair, "Now have a seat."

Rory stared at her, unwavering, "No." She sighed, shaking her head before opening the door and leaning out into the hall. A moment later, a large, extremely unfeminine looking woman walked into the room. Rory's eyes widened as the woman came closer and she cringed as she was dragged to the chair, the woman holding her on her lap. "Let go!" she yelled, kicking at Anna as she grabbed one of her ankles and pushed up her skirt.

"Leigh, I don't want to hurt you. This will be much easier if you stay still." she said, dipping the stick into the wax.

"No!" Rory screamed, then groaned as the warm wax was smeared in a thick line down the front of her leg.

"Relax." Anna said soothingly, smoothing a strip of cloth over the amber line.

"Well that seems to be proving just a little difficult-"

"Here-" the large woman cut her off, shoving a strip of leather into her hand, "-bite on that."

Rory whimpered lightly, but obliged, holding it between her teeth. "I"m going to count to three, alright?" Anna asked, gripping the end of the cloth in her hand. "One. . . .two. . . " and she tore it off, the ripping sound accompanied by Rory's muffled scream.

"What the hell!" she yelled, spitting out the leather, "You said you would count to three!"

"Yes, well then you would have been dreading it. Wasn't that so much better?" Rory gave her a dirty look and tried to yank her leg away, but Anna's grip was like iron. "Na, ah, ah. None of that now. We have to finish." She dipped the stick back into the wax.

"Wait." Rory groaned, her head falling back.

"Yes?"

"Can I have the leather back?" the old woman smiled and picked it up off the floor, handing it to the brunette. Rory looked up at the woman who was currently holding her captive, "And will you go away?"

"Will you behave if she does?" Anna asked, smoothing another dollop of wax onto her leg.

Rory sighed, closing her eyes, "Do I really have a choice?"

Anna grinned, looking at the woman, "Thank you, Alice. You can go." Rory breathed a sigh of relief as the woman released her and left the room. "Now," she looked down at Anna, who was laying another strip on Rory's leg, "I'm not going to lie to you this time. I won't say I'm going to count to-" and she ripped the strip off, smiling as Rory swore.

Rory sat on the bed an hour later, pressing her hands flatly to her red, irritated legs. Anna had left several minutes ago, saying that she'd be back with some cream to help with the stinging. Luckily she'd been able to convince her to stop with the legs. . . . .well, her legs and underarms. Rory didn't know what she was going to do when Anna decided that other areas needed waxing. There would be no way to hide her crest. The door opened and Rory looked up, glaring at Anna. The woman just rolled her eyes, "Save it sweetie. I'm not going to melt anytime soon."

"Mmm." was all she came out with as Anna began smoothing the cream onto her legs.

"I'll need to get you ready. You're dining with the king tonight."

Rory turned to look at her, "What?"

"The king. You'll be dinging with him tonight."

"And who else?"

Anna shrugged, "I think the head of the military will be there. Max Medina probably." She began on the next leg, "We'll have to put you in something casual, but nice. We took your sizes and had a wardrobe made. I'll let you help pick out the dress if you'd like, but you'll need a bath."

Rory sighed, looking out the window at the woods right next to the castle. What had she gotten herself into?

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Rory sat at the table, unable to breathe. She and Tristan were less than three feet from each other and he hadn't so much as looked at her all night. Everyone else was polite and cordial, but he refused to acknowledge her. They were in one of the informal dinning rooms at a short rectangular table. There were six places: the king at the head, herself to his right, Logan to her right, General Huntzburger at the foot, Max Medina across from Logan, and Ronald, the head of the king's old guard, across from her.

They were asking her what kind of training she'd had and they were curious as to how Carlton Dreeden was doing. But Tristan just...ignored her, and when he did finally stoop so low as to grace her with a look, it was through her, not at her. As if the chair was unoccupied, he seemed able to pretend she wasn't there. And for some reason it made her stomach drop. The other four men were being perfectly civil, surprisingly so, in fact. Finally Tristan's uncle pulled him into the conversation and he was forced to admit she was there. Although, while listening to their conversation, she'd been entertaining herself with a small wooden ball she'd found on the table. It was part of the centerpiece, but had fall off sometime in the course of the meal and she was now rolling it between her fingers under the table.

"So Leigh, who do you usually practice with? Nicholas?" Max asked.

She looked up at him, "No, actually. Nicholas and I had never gone against each other before the recruiters came. I practice with my cousin mainly, whenever I can convince him to." she answered, taking a sip of the wine in front of her.

"He doesn't like the sword?" Mitchum asked.

Rory smiled, "He doesn't like losing." The four men at the table other than Tristan laughed, and Rory grinned, taking another drink.

"So Rory, when do you turn eighteen?" Ronald asked, taking a sip from his own glass.

"Three weeks." she answered.

"Mmm, your birthday isn't too far behind Tristan's."

She glanced over at the blonde next to her. "Seven weeks." he said without looking at her.

Rory nodded, chewing on the insides of her cheeks. So Nick had been way off. "That reminds me. Is everyone still coming?" Max asked.

Tristan shook his head, "I don't know. I didn't invite them. They all got together and decided they'd come."

Rory snickered into her glass, glancing over as she heard Logan do the same. He smirked at her and took a swig of his drink. Rory chewed on the insides of her cheeks, setting her glass down. Upon feeling Tristan's eyes burning through the side of her head, she turned to face him. He was staring at her with a sour look, obviously not finding her amusing, "Is there something in your throat?"

Logan smirked, wiping his mouth with his napkin to hide it. Rory looked Tristan square in the eye, slightly put out by his cold shoulder, "No your highness, nothing." But lord, how she would have let him have it if these other men weren't in the room.

He stared at her, his gaze empty but burning at the same time. He slowly glanced at Logan and then back to Rory, his face unreadable.

"Well, I think I'll get to sleep." Ronald said, standing up to excuse himself, "The men have a long day tomorrow." he glanced over at her, "Leigh, will you be joining us tomorrow?"

She swallowed, unable to break her gaze from Tristan's, "Yes, sir." she blink, turning to face him, "I will."

He nodded, "Will you be going on the run, or do you want to train when they get back?"

"I'll go on the run."

He smiled, "Someone will be sent to wake you."

Rory smiled at him, nodding, "Thank you Ronald."

"I think I'll be heading up as well." Mitchum said, pushing his chair out, "I have to travel to Gildren tomorrow and speak with Gerald about this Celt problem we've been having." Rory watched him scoot his chair back in. Gerald Manda was the head of Gildren's military, and the Celts were the people on the other side of the mountain range that ran along the western side of Gildren and Hartford. The Celtic men that lived in the mountains had been taking the women on the outskirts of Gildren and Hartford. "We've both increased the number of soldiers in that area in the past month, but we've been trying to decide if a joint effort would be more effective." Max also stood, excusing himself from the group and the three men made their exit.

Rory looked over at Tristan as her mind went back to her second day in the castle, when she'd read the document on his desk about the outer villages asking for help. So he hadn't been lying when he said he'd give the protection. He glanced at her, having felt her steady gaze and his eyebrows arched slightly, giving nothing away. Rory sighed, turning to the blonde on her other side, "I'm sorry, we haven't exactly been properly introduced. You're Logan?" she asking, having caught his name earlier.

He smiled at her and nodded, holing out his hand, "Yes, Huntzburger. And you're Leigh Danes."

She took his hand, and he kissed the top of hers gently, "Yes. And you're about to become the general's second in command, aren't you?" resting her hands in her lap, she completely turned away from Tristan, giving him the ever lovely view of her backless cream colored evening dress.

"I am." he smirked over her shoulder, looking at Tristan, "It pays to have family in high positions." Tristan tore his gaze away from her back to look at his cousin, shaking his head lightly with an amused look. Logan's gaze fell back to the girl in front of him, "Gets you noticed easier."

"Your father?"she asked.

He laughed lightly, nodding, "My father. And Tristan."

"Oh, that's right. You two are related." she nodded slowly, "How, exactly?" she asked.

"Cousins." Logan nodded towards Tristan, "The late king was my mother's oldest brother." Rory nodded slowly, thinking. "So, what about you? Your family?"

"My father owns the pub in Stars Hollow and my mother paints." she smiled, chewing on the insides of her cheeks to force down the bout of homesickness that was threatening to come up, "My cousin Jess lives with us." she shrugged.

"And how old is Jess?" Logan asked.

"Nineteen."

"Are you close?"

She nodded, smiling, "We've lived together since I was eight. He's my best friend."

He nodded politely, "Well it's good that you're close with your cousin."

"What about you two?" she asked, motioning towards the silent king.

"What about us?"

"Are you close? Because some cousins aren't close. I mean, Jess and I are as close and anyone cane be, but on the other hand some family doesn't get along. Like these two women that live in my town. Their mothers were sisters and they grew up in the same house, but now they can't stand to even be in the same room together. I mean, they go silent. They don't look at each other, they don't speak to each other. Their children and husbands can't even stand each other, and the strangest thing is, nothing even happened." she shook her head, "No one can figure out what went wrong. I mean, I suppose they may have just gotten tired of each other, but my lord..."

Logan laughed lightly, grinning at her rambling, "We're definitely more like you and Jess than the other two."

"Ahh!" Rory grinned, resting her elbows on the table and lacing her fingers, resting her chin on top of her hands and leaning towards him, "So Logan, what do you do as the king's cousin and closest confidant?" she asked in exaggerated interest.

He grinned, obviously amused, and sighed, "Well, mostly, I lay around all day." he grinned, "Of course, that's only lately. Usually I'm involved in the military, but for the past few weeks all I've done is work as his personal slave to make sure he's happy and entertained."

"Oh?" she asked, smiling.

Logan nodded, "A terribly degrading task."

"I'm sure. How do you go about it?" Tristan watched their sarcastic exchange, amused. He didn't like that she was ignoring him, but didn't mind the view of her naked back: the pale, untouched expanse of skin shifting smoothly as her shoulders moved with her body each time she leaned forward in playful interest. And now that she was leaning completely forward, the dress was strained tight against her back, giving an ever-tempting view of her lower body.

Logan sighed again, shaking his head, "Well, you know, he's terribly tricky to keep happy, but mostly I just keep him well fed and. . . .ahem-" he cleared his throat, "-you know, biblically content."

"Biblically?" she asked.

Tristan's eyes widened behind her back and he shook his head rigorously, trying to get his cousin's attention. Logan saw him and his eyes narrowed slightly, but he continued, "Biblically, yes, you know-" Tristan traced his index finger across his throat, silently begging him to cease and desist, but Logan still went on, "I keep him entertained with a constant string of women powdered and sent to his room." Tristan closed his eyes, swearing quietly and resting his forehead in his hand.

Rory's mouth opened to retort, but nothing came out. She sat, completely still as her mind flashed back to the night she'd been sent to Tristan's room. _He'd been leaning back in his chair, looking her up and down shamelessly when she'd demanded to know why she was there. He'd smirked, rubbed his chin and answered. "I said something to a friend and guess it was taken literally."_ The muscles in her jaw flexed unintentionally as she turned in her chair to face the man behind her and just stared. His eyebrow arched fractionally and a small smirk quirked the side of his mouth, but he remained silent. "A friend?"

He nodded slowly, his smirk not leaving, "A friend."

She glared, shaking her head lightly before standing up, pushing her chair out forcefully and shooting a glare at each of the cousins. "I think I'll make my way to bed as well. I need to wake up early tomorrow." and with that she made her way out of the dinning room.

Logan's mouth opened uncertainly, still staring at the chair she'd been occupying. His eyes narrowed in question as he tore his gaze away to see his cousin, "What just happened?"

Tristan was staring at the doorway, his smirk gone as he shook his head, "You sent her to keep me _biblically_ happy, recall?"

Logan's mouth formed into a perfect 'O' as he nodded slowly, silent for a moment. "So then you two...?"

Tristan glanced over at his cousin before rolling his eyes, "No."

His eyes widened, "Are you serious? You mean I went through all that trouble and you didn't even-"

Tristan cut him off, laughing lightly, "Yes, I made you go through all the trouble of telling Brad to have her brought to me."

Logan sighed, watching the doorway longingly, "Dear Lord you disappoint me, Dugrey."

-

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Rory strode down the corridor to her room, shaking her head in disbelief. Tristan she would have expected something like that from. But Logan had seemed so nice. . . .so funny. She shook her head to clear it. What he hadn't struck her as was they type of person to treat a woman like a piece of meat. She rolled the small wooden ball in her hands, chewing on the insides of her cheeks. And Tristan hadn't even told her. He'd just sat there and watched her talk to his cousin, knowing full well how angry she would have been had she known.

A frustrated scream escaped her throat as she threw the walnut-sized ball. It disappeared around the corner, followed instantly by a surprised yell and the sound of a basket being dropped. Her eyes widened as she quickly rounded the corner to spot a boy with curly brown hair rubbing his arm, looking around to see what had hit him. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry." she bent down to pick up the overturned basket.

"Did you throw that?" he asked, squatting down to begin picking up the laundry that littered the ground around him.

"Yeah." she smiled up at him sheepishly, "I'm sorry I had no idea you were over here."

He shook his head, picking up the ball as a low whistle escaped his lips, "Now may I say you have one hell of an arm on you." she laughed, blushing lightly. "I'm serious. If that had hit me in the head I'd be knocked out." he held it out to her.

She smiled, taking it from him, "Thank you." she slipped it into her pocket and continued tossing the clothes into the basket.

"I'm Martin." he made a face, holding out his hand, "Well, Marty, but you know, being proper and all in the castle."

Rory grinned, taking his hand, "Leigh."

He nodded, "Nice to meet you."

"I really am sorry about that."

He shook his head, "It wasn't intentional. Nothing to be forgiven of."

She nodded, standing up, "So you do laundry?"

"What?" he asked, obviously confused as he stood as well. She nodded towards the basket under his arm. "Ahh." he laughed, shaking his head, "No. I work in the kitchen. A friend of mine does laundry, but she's caught a cold and is too weak to carry it today."

Rory nodded, "I see." she turned towards her room, "Well it was nice meeting you Marty-"

He cut her off, "If you don't mind me asking-" She stopped and turned to face him. "-how it is that a girl comes by an arm like that?"

"Oh," she glanced out the window, "I'm a swordsman." his eyebrow arched as he looked her up and down. "Well, a swords-_woman_, I guess."

He nodded slowly, his face not changing, "A swords-woman?"

Her jaw tightened, "_Yes_, a swords-woman." she turned to go to her room, but he caught up with her, stopping her.

"No, I didn't mean to offend you, it's just. . . ." he trailed off, "You don't look the type." he glanced around the hall, "I mean, how did you even come to be here?"

Rory turned to him, "You know how the king wanted a new guard?"

"Yes."

"And he looked in the villages and towns?"

Marty nodded, suddenly remembering the rumor, "There was one girl, wasn't there? I heard that somewhere."

"Yes."

"Well why are you here?"

Her eyes narrowed, "What?"

"What I mean is, why are you in the castle and not with the men?"

Rory shrugged, "The king has decided he doesn't want a woman in his guard." she rolled her eyes, "Apparently he doesn't want to put me in danger or something like that."

Marty's eyebrow arched, "And he hasn't sent you home?"

She shook her head, "No. He says he still wants me to help train the men, although I have no idea what I can do. I'm seventeen and female. They won't listen to me."

"It doesn't seem very likely."

She sighed, shrugging again, "Well, I have to get to bed. Early day tomorrow."

He nodded, switching the basket to his other arm as he started down the hall, "Sleep well."

Rory smiled, "Thank you." she opened her door, "It was nice meeting you."

He turned to face her walking backwards, "You too." he nodded towards her, "I'll see you around, Leigh."

She nodded as well, "See you around."

-

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_A/N: Just to calm any fears, don't worry. Even though there was Logan and Marty interaction in this chapter, it's a trory. The only pairing I can stand, so the only one I will ever write. That's it. Great author's note, I know. Just to calm any fears cause I know some people will get worried, but you guys know me. Die hard trory._


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: So, I realize you probably think I'm dead, if anyone is reading this, but I'm not. I'm just busy, you know, my brain is slightly broken what with my having a horrible memory and all, and this story just kind of slipped through the cracks, but I will try to finish it, I promise :) _

Rory woke slowly, shifting around in the bed to try to find a more comfortable spot. She inhaled deeply, burrowing deeper into the mattress and pulling covers over her head to block out the morning sun. The sun warmed her through the covers. The sun was...out? Suddenly she shot up in her bed, looking around wildly through narrowed eyes until her sight adjusted to the bright. The sun was out? Why was the sun out? Did no one wake her up for the run?

And then she actually looked around her room. Flower-filled vases littered every surface. The vanity, night table, chest of drawers, top of the wardrobe, and all along the walls were peppered with vases, as well as dozens spread randomly throughout the open floor. She slid off the bed and looked at the explosion of color around her, a smile overtaking her face. Who could have done all this? Her first thought was Marty, but as soon as the thought came to her, she knew it couldn't be him. He didn't have to means to do this.

These were not flowers that someone had gone out into the garden and picked for her. They were exquisite bouquets tied in ribbon and lace with blooms of every color and size looking up at her from all around.

Then it must have been Logan. It seemed like something he might do. They had spent a lot of time together in the past weeks since she had dinner with him and the king, and had gotten very close. He reminded her of Jess, although much more arrogant. She bit her lip, grinning as she picked a tulip from the vase next to her left foot and ran the bulb over her cheek lightly. Why would he have done this? What occasion? And simply, why?

That was when she remembered that it was her birthday. Her eyes widened slightly, how could she have forgotten? And how could he have remembered? No one had asked her about it in three weeks.

She looked up to see a young servant shifting one of the vases so that the mirror was unblocked. "Who did all this?" Rory asked, glancing around her room.

The girl stood straight and looked over at her, "The king. He said it was for your birthday." Rory's eyes widened slightly and she could feel her jaw drop. The girl bit her lip, her eyes shifting to the side, "But I'm not sure if I'm supposed to tell you." and she went back to her work of fixing the flowers.

Rory looked around, her mouth still open. Tristan had done this? To say the least, she was impressed. She hadn't thought him capable of something this kind. They still weren't like they had been in the first days of her stay, but she couldn't complain. He left her alone, mostly. Although she didn't think he liked her being close with Logan. If she didn't know any better she would have though the looks he sent them and the cold shoulder he gave to his cousin for a week after the dinner were jealousy. But she doubted that a king who could have any woman in the kingdom would be jealous of a peasant girl becoming friends with his cousin.

She looked over to the chair next to her dressing screen to see that a light blue dress had been laid over it. On the other side of the screen was a bath already filled. She guessed the girl had drawn it before she woke up. After a quick bath, she dressed with the aid of the girl and then her hair was pinned up into a loose bun at the back of her head, several wavy strands falling. She left her room, thanking the girl for her help and going towards the informal dining room for breakfast.

Tristan and Max were sitting at the table, their heads bent close together while they carried on a hushed conversation. When she entered they both glanced up at her and stood respectfully. She nodded and smiled, obviously surprised when Tristan pulled her chair out for her, "Thank you." he nodded, scooting her in and sitting back down in his own chair as he motioned for food to be brought to her. She laid her napkin into her lap, looking over at him, "And thank you for the flowers."

"Happy birthday."

"Oh, that's right. I forgot it was your birthday." Max said, across from her. She laughed lightly, turning to look at him. So that meant that Tristan really had remembered. His advisor hadn't reminded him. "Happy Birthday."

"Thank you."

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Rory walked around the castle aimlessly that afternoon, looking around. Everyone had insisted that she do nothing all day on account of her birthday, and she hated it. She had never before realized how boring it was to do nothing. Although, she had to admit, her favorite part of the day was when Callum, Nick, and Dorian had performed a birthday song for her that they composed themselves.

And now she was simply walking. She had been roaming, looking around at the tapestries that lines the walls, but by now she'd ventured into the servant's wing of the castle. There were windows, brightening the long corridor, but no decorations on the walls. Towards the end of the hall a door was propped open and the sounds of pots and pans banging, meat sizzling, and fire crackling came to her. A chorus of voices could be heard talking within, laughing and calling to one another over the ruckus. She came to the kitchen door, smiling at the homely feel and the way all of the cooks and servants bantered.

There was one, a plump woman with flaming red hair pulled back from her face, that seemed to be the center of gravity in the room. Everything revolved around her and bent to her will. She must have been the head of the kitchen. At the moment she was involved in a heated discussion with a taller man whose face was graced with a bristling beard. Rory could hear him respond back just as passionately as he shifted a crate of carrots to his side. She couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but they seemed to be bickering like a married couple and she wondered briefly if they were. Several of the servants took notice of her in the doorway and the ones who did stopped, looking around as if they weren't sure she was allowed to be there. Most didn't pay her any attention and went on cooking and talking. One of the workers who did notice her slipped over to the woman and attempted to get her attention, but the man went unnoticed as the short woman went on hissing at the man in front of her. The younger man continued to nudge her as her hands flew around, coinciding with her heated remarks to the man in front of her. Rory laughed, folding her arms over her chest as the boy continued to try to get her attention.

Finally she turned, her hands waving in the air, "What?!"

He cringed but nodded towards Rory, "Sorry, Sookie, but the uh–the king's..." he trailed off, uncertain of what exactly Rory was.

The woman turned, still wide eyed from her confrontation, "The king's wha–" but upon catching sight of Rory she froze half way through her sentence, her mouth open. She stared at her with something that was a cross of shock and horror. As Sookie fell silent the rest of the kitchen did as well.

Rory stood in the silence, biting her lip as she cleared her throat uncomfortably, pushing herself off the doorframe, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be here." she turned to go but a voice stopped her.

"No–" it was the head cook, coming forward, "–don't go." Rory turned back around, surprised, as the woman continued to speak so quietly no one else could hear her, "It's just, you look like someone..." she trailed off, shaking her head, "Never mind." but she continued to look into Rory's face as if trying to see someone else's, "What's your name?"

The noise of the kitchen had resumed as she came forward but Rory still hesitated for a moment, uncertain of how much she should speak to this woman. "Leigh." she said finally.

The shorter woman's jaw dropped, her eyes widening again. Rory felt every muscle in her body tense and she started to take a step back, but a hand shot out to her wrist, keeping her where she was, "No, no, stay."

Rory put her hand over the woman's, panic setting in, "Please let me go." she said quietly, pulling at the hand, but those fingers were stronger than they looked.

The woman let go after a moment, "Sorry, I'm Sookie." she nodded towards the man she'd been talking to, "That's my husband Jackson."

They did look familiar in a way, but her memory from before she was eight was foggy; being back in Hartford made everything seem slightly familiar, "It's nice to meet you." She still stared at Rory as if she couldn't believe she was there. "What?"

Sookie shook her head, closing her eyes, "Nothing. Nothing. I'm sorry."

Her husband nudged her, "Sook." he warned quietly.

"Sorry, I'm done." she glanced over at Rory, speaking quietly, "it's just, you look so–" she broke off as her husband grabbed her shoulder firmly.

Rory took a step back, her heart still pounding, "I really should go. I'm sorry, it was nice to meet you." and with that she turned, flying down the corridor amid the shouts of the cook.

She ran blindly, struggling for air against the panic in her chest as she passed hall after hall, turning down passages she didn't recognize in an attempt to get as far away from the kitchen as possible. Or to get as lost as she possibly could so that they would never find her; either one would work. She must have lost her mind when she agreed to come here. If a cook could recognize her that easily then what were the chances that no one else would?

She turned a corner and hit something solid, probably the wall, and stumbled backwards. She almost fell to the ground, but someone steadied her, one arm around her back while the other clenched her arm, "Leigh?"

She looked up, wide eyed to see that the wall she'd hit had been a person, "Marty. Hi."

He took in her flushed cheeks and heavy breathing, looking at her as if he'd never seen her before, "Are you alright?" he glanced over the corner she'd just careened around. "Who were you running from?"

"Oh!" she looked down the hall as well, searching for something to say, "I - - I wasn't running from anyone."

His eyebrow arched, "Really?"

She nodded, "Mhmm."

"Why were you running down the laundry corridor?"

"The laundry corridor?"

He nodded, casting his eyes around them, "That would be where we are."

"I was...running." Rory answered uncertainly, staring up at him.

"Yes. I noticed."

She nodded, waving her hand, "What I mean is I was running, because no one woke me up this morning to run with the guard." now that he'd mentioned it was the laundry corridor she noticed steam coming from several of the rooms, probably from boiling water.

His face relaxed, "Oh, right, happy birthday, by the way–"

She smiled, "Thank you."

He nodded, still not buying her story, "But why were you running down the laundry corridor?"

"I- -well, because, the- - laundry...corridor is so refreshing."

He released her, "Refreshing?"

"Yes." she waved her hand again, "The steam. It's...cleansing."

"Ahh. Cleansing." he still didn't believe her, obviously, but he wasn't going to fight her on it.

She nodded, "Cleansing."

"Well, I actually have to get back to work but, again, happy birthday." he grinned, bowing lightly before stepping around her, "I'll see you around."

She smiled, "Thank you."

He disappeared around the corner she'd come crashing into him from and it wasn't until he was out of hearing range that she realized she had no idea how to get back to the main part of the castle.

Eventually, with the help of several women from the laundry corridor, Rory found herself back in the main part of the castle. She was on the way to her room when she was intercepted by a Max Medina, "Leigh, I need your help."

"What's wrong?"

He turned her around so that she was walking back the way she'd come, "It's Tristan." She tilted her head, inviting him to go on. "As you know, his birthday is in four weeks." She nodded. "Several of his friends are coming to stay here in three weeks and Tristan won't do anything to help prepare for them. He doesn't care what we do so he won't give his opinion on anything. He's being completely uncooperative."

She shook her head lightly, not seeing where this was going, "What do you need from me?"

Max shrugged lightly, uncertain, "I know you two haven't gotten very close, but you presence, well, it seems to...calm him." he rested a hand on her shoulder, "Whenever he's around you he's less unhappy than usual. I guess what I'm trying to ask of you is to talk some sense into him. I mean, what with the circumstances surrounding his birthday–"

Rory cut him off, "Circumstances?"

Max stopped abruptly, taken aback, "You mean...you mean you don't know?"

"Don't know what?"

"Why his guests are coming?"

"Oh." she nodded, "I was told that he invited his friends because he was choosing a wife, since he rejected the one that was proposed a year ago."

Max stared at her, shaking his head lightly, "No. No, as far as I know Tristan has no desire to marry anytime soon. You really don't know?" She shook her head. "He didn't invite his friends. They took it upon themselves to come." he fell silent for a moment, "I don't know how much Tristan has told you, but he was very close to his father. The late king was murdered four days before Tristan's twelfth birthday. He was coronated the day he turned twelve. This birthday marks ten years since his father's death." She stared at him for a moment without speaking, her mouth forming a perfect O. She hadn't thought about that. Hadn't thought about him. Of course she knew the tenth anniversary of the slaughter of her family was approaching, but she hadn't thought that

Tristan would be bothered by his father's death; if anything, she'd have thought he would celebrate a decade on the throne. "Just, speak to him, please." he stopped and his hand dropped from her shoulder where he'd been guiding her. She glanced up, surprised to find that they'd arrived at the door to Tristan's study.

"I don't..." she trailed off, shaking her head lightly, "I don't know what I can do. What do you want me to do?"

"Just speak to him. We're just worried, that's all. You have an effect on him; I don't know what it is. I can't tell if you amuse him or bother him or just confuse him, but something about you gets to him." Max fell silent and Rory glanced over to see his face. It was fallen, "Every year from the anniversary of his father's death to the end of his birthday he drinks himself into a stupor and lashes out at everyone close to him. I just...Leigh, if there's anything you can do, please, do it." he said quietly, pushing her gently forward before taking a step back. "Please." he said quietly, nodding towards the door before turning to walk quickly down the hall.

She bit her lip lightly, stepping closer to the door. She raised her hand tentatively, uncertain of what to make of the fact that she affected Tristan so much. Her knuckles rapped lightly on the thick wood and she hoped that he wouldn't hear so she could turn away. But after only a moment an invitation to enter was muffled through the door and she turned the knob, pushing the thick wooden door open a few feet. He didn't look up from his desk where a sheet of parchment lay, but raised his hand, curling the fingers to beckon her into the room. "Close the door."

She obeyed, pulling it shut behind her before making her way slowly to the chair across from him. He still didn't look up from the letter in front of him, his gaze traveling swiftly over the slanted lines on the parchment as his lips twisted distastefully. Rory watched him, amused at the facial expressions he made unconsciously as he perused the paper before him. After a moment, however, his gaze stilled at the bottom of the parchment, done reading but still absorbing. His face cleared of the wrinkle-nosed scowl he'd had and his fingers drummed once against the desk. "What can I do for you, Leigh?"

She didn't answer at first, unsure of what to say. After a moment of deliberation she decided on the truth, "Max sent me."

Tristan's eyebrow arched, caught off guard as he looked up at her, "Max sent you?"

She nodded, "He wants me to convince you to be excited about your friends coming for your birthday."

His lip quirked when she finished and he watched her for a moment before speaking, "Is that right?"

"Yes." she pulled her feet underneath her to get more comfortable in the stiff-backed chair, "He wants you to care."

"About my birthday?"

"About them coming. He wants you to give your opinion on the preparations." she explained, biting her lip.

He shook his head, waving his hand, "We shouldn't be talking about my birthday, it's four weeks away. However yours is today. We should be talking about _you_." he grinned lightly, leaning forward.

Rory smiled as well, shaking her head, "Don't try to change the subject."

Tristan's grin widened before he composed himself dramatically, trying to annoy and amuse her at the same time. He shifted, erased his grin, and nodded thoughtfully. The teasing air had left him and she marveled at how quickly he could change. He appraised her for a moment before leaning back in his chair, "Why didn't he come tell me himself?"

She opened her mouth, surprised that he was able to become absolutely serious so quickly, but had nothing to say, and so she closed it slowly, looking down at her hands, "I guess..." she trailed off, lacing her fingers thoughtfully, "I guess he didn't think you would listen." she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, waiting for his response.

But it never came. Silence fell around her, but it wasn't awkward, it was comfortable. After a moment she looked up to see that he was watching her, staring at her as if he wanted to see through her but couldn't; as if he were used to seeing through people. Her gaze met his and he held it for a moment before speaking, "Are you married, Leigh?"

Her jaw slackened, her eyebrows pulling together, caught off guard by his question. "I'm sorry, your highness?"

"Are you married?" he repeated, sitting up straight in his chair.

"No." she said quietly, still uncertain.

"Engaged?"

"No." she shook her head, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"Promised?"

Rory opened her mouth, a blush creeping into her cheeks, "No."

He shook his head, watching her before responding, "How?"

"How?" she asked, confused.

"Yes, how?" He stood from his chair and came around to the front of his desk, speaking as he walked, "You're eighteen–" she blushed deeper, glancing down, "–how are you not married? Someone with your face, your strength, your mind, I would think, would be married by her fourteenth birthday. I find it hard to believe that no one has asked for your hand and impossible to believe that no one wanted you." He stopped in front of her, leaning back against the front of the desk "How is it possible?"

She looked up, "I never said I hadn't been asked."

He crossed his arms over his chest, impressed, "You turned away suitors?"

"Yes." she said quietly.

"How many?" he asked, now amused.

"Three. The first when I was fourteen."

He nodded, unsurprised, before speaking with much more feeling than she would have thought he'd have, "_Why_ did you turn them away?" She didn't answer, but looked away. "Why?" he repeated, "Were they ugly? Weak? Poor? What was it about them that made you refuse; what excuse did you give?"

She shook her head slowly, sighing as she looked out the window, "They weren't weak or poor, and they certainly weren't ugly."

"What then?" he asked.

"Why are you so interested?" she asked, still not looking at him. Silence followed her question. She'd known he wouldn't answer.

"Why did you turn them away?"

Rory blinked slowly, chewing on the insides of her cheeks, "You'll think it's foolish."

"I won't." he answered quietly. And she was shocked at the softness of his voice; so shocked, in fact, that she twisted her head around to stare at him before speaking.

"Impractical, then."

He pursed his lips, nodding once, thoughtfully, "Impractical, perhaps, but impracticality and foolishness are not the same thing."

She watched him for an extended silence before replying, "I would rather die unmarried than live my life with a man I don't love."

Tristan's expression was inscrutable. "Love?" he asked quietly. She nodded. "It is impractical." Rory didn't respond. "So you turned away three suitors because you didn't love them?" she nodded again and he sighed, shaking his head, "I have never met anyone like you, Leigh Danes."

She smiled lightly, "Thank you."

"What makes you think that was a compliment?"

She shrugged, "I think catching the king off guard is something to be complimented for."

His lip quirked and he shook his head again, snorting, "Love."

"What?" she snapped, annoyed, sitting up straighter.

"Nothing." he sighed, shaking his head, "It's not foolish. _Impractical_." he muttered, rolling his eyes, "But not foolish." he reached behind him, pulling the letter he'd been reading from his desk and holding it before her, "It's from the king of Rivenlear."

She glanced at the parchment in his hand; Rivenlear was the country to the south. "Oh?" she asked.

He nodded, sighing, "It's a proposal of marriage."

Rory looked back to his face, "But I thought he was already married?"

His eyebrow arched, but he didn't rise to her bait, "Cute." She grinned innocently and he continued, "It's for his daughter..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

Rory nodded, her amusement vanishing at the seriousness that radiated from him, "I hear she's beautiful."

Tristan looked over at her, "I suppose, she is." he shook his head, "So at least that would be a good thing for my children." Rory grinned as he went on, "And she has some strong hips, Lord knows, she'll be able to have healthy children. And she's kind, she'd make a good queen..." he trailed off, sighing.

"But?" Rory supplied, watching him.

"_But_ she is so unbelievably dense." he groaned, covering his face with his hands in frustration.

A short burst of surprised laughter escaped Rory before she could stop it and he looked over at her, exasperated. "Sorry." she choked out, covering her mouth.

"You think this is funny?" he practically whined, annoyed at the situation. She shrugged, still grinning. "You think it's amusing that marriage has been proposed to me by the father of a fifteen year old imbecile?" Rory started laughing again, "Leigh, I can't even carry on a conversation with her."

"So then don't marry her." she suggested, her laughter subsiding.

"I'm not. I just..." he trailed off, shaking his head.

"Just what?" she asked.

He sighed, "I just want my people to have a queen."

She nodded slowly, scratching the back of her neck, "I'm sure you'll find one that you can stand soon enough."

He nodded, rolling his eyes as if he didn't believe her, "What was it you came in for? To get me excited about my birthday?"

"Yes." she smiled, "Are you excited now?"

"No."

She pursed her lips, "You aren't making this easier."

"I'm sorry." he supplied.

"I don't think you really are."

He smirked lightly, pushing himself off of the desk, "You'll have to try harder than that."

"This is trying hard."

"No, it's not."

"Yes, it is."

"No." he said lightly, walking back around to his chair.

"I am trying." she dead-panned.

He sat down heavily, "No, I don't think you really are."

Rory's eyebrow arched and her mouth opened but she was grinning, "Funny."

He nodded, but was already reaching across his desk to grab something, not looking at her, "Mmm. I have work to do. Go find something else to entertain you."

She watched him but he ignored her, teasingly, she thought. After a moment she stood, "Yes, sir." and turned towards the door.

"Oh, and Leigh?" he called after she'd turned the knob.

"Yes, your highness?" she twisted around to look at him.

"You might want to try harder not to get lost." he looked up from his desk and she nearly took a step back from the cold fire that burned in his eyes but hadn't been there a moment ago, "The laundry corridor is harmless, but you wouldn't want to end up in the dungeons. Something...unfortunate, could happen."

She stared at him, shocked, with her mouth hanging open in shock. How could he possibly know about that already? Her mouth moved as if she wanted to speak, but was unable to. He nodded, as if he understood.

"I didn't–" she stuttered, but fell silent.

He nodded, turning back to his papers, "It was a mistake, I know." he said quietly, dipping a quill in ink. "You should be more careful." She stood in a dazed silence, waiting for him to say something else, but he didn't, and so she turned and left, closing the door quietly behind her.


	7. Chapter 7

"Loosen your shoulders." Rory touched the man before her in the center of his back, between his shoulder blades, "You'll get a better swing if you aren't tense." he didn't respond, but she felt his muscles relax and she moved on, stepping lightly among the dueling men. They were paired together and scattered around the training field, their stance and form being critiqued. The man hadn't spoken to her, but then again they rarely did. It was getting better, of course, as they each came to learn from experience that she really was better than they were; men seemed more likely to listen to you when they realized you could kill them. She wouldn't say they respected her, but at times they listened. She'd been at the castle for six weeks and didn't hope for it to get better.

"_Leigh!_" she heard her name whispered and turned to see Callum and Nick dueling several feet away from her. They beckoned her over, resting their swords at their sides. They wouldn't be noticed in the din of clanging metal and grunting men, not that anyone from the guard would have done anything since she was with them. "You missed it!" Callum groaned quietly and Rory knew that something extremely entertaining had taken place.

"Missed what?" she asked, folding her arms.

"Well now that you're all womanly and civilized and living in the castle–_ehh_" she elbowed him and he made a dying noise, grabbing his side, but grinned, "–you miss all the wonderful things that happen with the swine."

"What did I miss?"

"Did you see McKellin's black eye?"

"Oh!" she gasped, now excited, "Yes, I did. I was going to ask you about that."

"Okay." he smirked, leaning closer, "So yesterday me and Dorian were stretching after our workout and we heard him make a _ahem–_" he cleared his throat theatrically, "_–lewd_–comment about you that I wouldn't repeat in civilized conversation or ever even say about you." Rory felt her eyebrows arch on their own and she opened her mouth to ask if she really wanted to hear this, but he held up his hand, asking to continue, "That isn't the good part. So, Dorian and I looked at each other and made sure that we'd heard right, but of course we had. So we just kind of nodded at each other and then set off to dismember him, but before we'd gotten halfway to him Mark. Once again I say _Mark_, the behemoth who is always making grown men cry, _wailed him in the face_!"

Rory's eyes widened, "What?"

Callum nodded hugely, "Yes, I have never seen one of the guard actually hit the men, but Mark nailed him. I mean, I was in pain seeing it."

"What?" she asked again, still uncomprehending, "Why?"

Callum shook his head, "You could see that everyone around him was itching to do the same thing, but you know they have strict rules about us fighting each other." he sighed, glancing at her, "It was beautiful. He hit the ground and it took a minute for him to get back up. Seriously, Leigh, Mark didn't even come in from the side. It wasn't a weak shot. He came in full from the front and McKellin watched him do it. It was one of the most amazing things I've ever seen in my life."

She shook her head, still unable to wrap her brain around it, "But why would he hit him for it?"

Nick shrugged, speaking finally, "Most of the men are taking what the king said seriously. It's been a few weeks since I've heard them really say anything about you. McKellin is just one of the idiots who isn't. The guard have been punishing anyone who says anything about you."

Rory nodded, but didn't say anything, sighing heavily as she turned, "Go ahead and practice some more." she said quietly, walking back through the men.

–-----

"You really don't have to do that, you know." Rory stilled, her hands hovering over the flour sack she'd been about to lift. The men were done for the day and had gone to have dinner. She had stayed after to put the weights back in their closet while the guard went to take the men to their food.

"I know, but I don't mind." she scooped the sack into her arms and stood from the crouch she'd been in, stepping towards the closet.

He watched her kick the door in and toss the flower in with the rest, "There are people to do that."

"I don't mind." she repeated, walking back to the stacks of weights to grab another. Tristan watched her, amused, as she lifted it. "Don't you have something to be doing?" she asked, unnerved as he didn't say anything else.

He shrugged, leaning back on his heels, "I was bored."

She carted the second sack to the closet, "And you came out here to work with sacks of flour?"

"Actually, I came to speak with Mark, but I see they've already gone in."

Rory tossed the flour into the closet and stopped, biting her lip uncertainly before turning to look at him. She was surprised, more than she should have been, to see that he was staring at her. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it, her shoulders relaxing, "Yes. They just went in a few minutes ago."

She stepped forward to grab another bag, walking slowly towards Tristan, but as she passed him his hand shot out, "Wait." She jumped lightly but his fingers were wrapped around her elbow in a burning vice before she could think or react, holding her in place. Her head snapped up and as it did she unwittingly locked gazes with him, her eyes wide. He stared at her, his expression unreadable. Rory's arm warmed, tingling where his skin touched hers. The silence enveloped them like a blanket and she was suddenly very aware of his close proximity; of the heat radiating from his warm chest beneath his loose shirt. She could almost feel his chest rising and falling as he breathed evenly, coming closer to her and then farther away as they stood in stillness, neither of them moving.

Usually when he stared at her it was as if he were trying to figure her out, break some code that determined her actions. Not now. Now he was just watching her, his clear cerulean gaze penetrating her, seeing everything. Her body warmed next to his, the late September heat already had sweat glistening over her forehead and pooling in her back; now the temperature increased, the warmth washing in waves from his skin making the heat unbearable. Rory felt her face flush, her stomach clenching as she finally tore her gaze from his, looking down.

The heat between them broke and, almost as if the world around them had been holding its breath while their gazes locked, a breeze ruffled her hair, lifting it lightly around her as the world exhaled. "What?" she asked quietly.

Tristan glanced down at his hand wrapped around her elbow, flexing his fingers before releasing her slowly, as if coming out of a trance. "What were you going to say?"

She shook her head lightly, taking a step back, "Nothing."

"Yes, you were going to say something."

"No, I wasn't." she answered, but there was a note of uncertainty in her voice.

"Go on." he insisted.

She bit her lip, taking a step back to find her bearings before she took the risk of looking back up at him, "What did you say to the men?"

He shook his head, uncertain of what she meant, "When?"

"A few weeks ago. One of them told me that you made them stop saying things about me. You made them stop disrespecting me." she said quietly, biting her bottom lip nervously, "What did you say?"

Tristan didn't answer, but instead glanced away from her, shrugging his shoulders, "It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me." she protested quietly, "I care."

He turned back to her, "It's past. It's done. Forget it."

"But I want to know what made them–"

He swore, twisting his head away from her sharply before cutting her off, "Drop it, Leigh." he growled quietly

She fell silent. Rory stared up at him, taken aback, her eyes narrowed, but he refused to look back at her. Because he refused to turn to her, she watched the way the muscles in his jaw worked, flexing as he ground his teeth together. His eyes were tight, his stance rigid. "Are you mad at me?"

At that he finally turned to look at her, "No."

She sat down, her legs tired from standing all day, "Then what is it?"

He didn't respond at first, but sighed, "Leigh," he shook his head lightly, glancing down at her, "The things they were saying...you didn't hear the worst of it. If they were talking about any woman that way I would have done the same thing. It's the situation. It's what they were saying that makes me mad. Not you." he sighed again shaking his head, "Never you."

She looked up at him, biting her lip, "What?"

He walked around the pavilion, staying close so that she could hear him, but not straying too far within proximity of her, "The things you say, I never know how to take them. No one has ever had the audacity to say the things to me that you say. At first I didn't think you understood that practically every time you opened your mouth you were risking death, but then I realized that you did know." he turned to face her, several feet away, "You knew exactly what you were doing." Rory opened her mouth, but had nothing to say, so she closed it again. He'd read the look that had crossed her face, however, and he spoke again, "Don't be worried. Don't be sorry. It's like a breath of fresh air, Leigh, to have someone that will just talk to me without worrying that they're going to say the wrong thing or who is just trying to figure out what I want to hear." he stepped closer to her, "At first, I hated it, of course, because I didn't understand you. But I don't hate it now; I still don't understand it, but I certainly don't hate it. I've never had anyone say anything remotely like what you say to me. I thought in the beginning it was because you hated me and so you just didn't care, but I don't think you hate me anymore."

Rory watched him in disbelief. She'd never seen him speak so vehemently or so rushed. She'd never seen him say what he wanted or what he liked. And with a shock that raced down her spine and chilled her bones, she realized that she didn't hate him. She in no way hated the man in front of her. She had resentments, of course, but could find no hate. Because in her mind this was not the person who had killed her family. She had somehow completely separated the person standing before her from the king ten years ago. "I...." she trailed off, blinking rapidly to regain her focus, "I don't...." she pushed herself off the ground shakily, taking a step back from him. He still had the same wild light shining behind his eyes as he watched her step back. "I can't–" her voice broke and she shook her head lightly, "I have to go." And she turned, racing from the pavilion as Tristan called her name.

-----------

Rory laid in bed two days later, staring up at the ceiling as early morning sunlight filtered through the curtain at her window and fell into her room. The block of yellow heat hadn't yet reached her bed and so she wasn't yet being burned enough to make her move. She had declined going on the run with the men today, her mind too fuddled from the things she'd heard two nights ago to concentrate on where she was going. She would without a doubt have tripped over some obvious root or stone in her path.

She hadn't gone yesterday morning either, that soon after the discussion she would barely have been able to keep up, even now she was off balance. She couldn't believe she hadn't yet gotten a chance to speak with him. Tristan had traveled to one of the smaller villages right outside of the town yesterday and hadn't gotten back until late. As soon as he'd arrived back at the castle he'd been swept into a meeting by Max and Rory hadn't seen him again.

But still, as he'd entered the castle surrounded by advisors and military leaders upon his return, she'd stood at the top of the staircase on her way to speak to Nick, Callum, and Dorian, and immediately he'd looked up at her as if he'd known she was there, his face expressionless but burning at the same time. That look had made her stomach drop and her head spin and still she couldn't get his eyes out of her mind. They'd been clear and wide, staring at her and through her and into her all at the same time, just like he always did. He'd only looked at her for a moment, though, before he was whisked away.

And so she didn't hate Tristan. It was strange to think, after all this time, that being in his presence for a little over a month could make her forget the loathing she'd carried for nearly all her life. He made her angry, of course. There were things he did that made her hate him in a moment. But on the whole? Taking Tristan as a person? She could not find it in herself to hate him any longer.

Her train of thought was interrupted by a knock on the door, which she didn't acknowledge. There was another series of knocks, but she stared resolutely at the ceiling, watching dust dance through the sunlight that was still several feet above her head. Without another knock the door was kicked open and heavy footsteps came across her floor. She didn't have to look up to know that it was Anna. Any of the other maids would have left when she ignored them a the door.

"Morning, Leigh. Time to get up." she came to the side of the bed. Rory didn't turn to look at her, but out of the corner of her eye she saw a jar of amber wax in one hand and a cup in the other. She shifted now, glancing at the cup but ignoring the wax. She had the thought that maybe if she ignored it Anna wouldn't push the torture on her; but she doubted it.

"What is that?"

"This?" the old woman asked, swirling the cup. Rory nodded. "It's for you."

Her eyes shot to Anna's face, her shock unmasked, "Why?"

She shrugged, turning to set the wax on the window ledge across the room, "I just thought you might like some tea. Here–" she motioned towards Rory as she walked back to her bed, "–sit up."

Rory pushed herself up, leaning against the back board. She took the offered cup from the older woman, still suspicious, "You made this for me?"

"Yes." she smiled.

Rory's eyes narrowed, "Why are you so happy? Is it poisoned?"

Ana rolled her eyes, the grin falling, "No. It is not poisoned."

She raised the rim of the cup to her nose and inhaled lightly, the warmth heating her face. It smelled alright. Her gaze darted up, "Thank you." Anna nodded and Rory glanced back down to the toffee colored liquid before putting the cup to her lips. She wasn't fond of tea; in fact she hated it. But she supposed, if Anna wanted to make peace, she would oblige. It wasn't that they hated each other, but there was tension. Anna ruled the underground of the castle with an iron fist. She was the foremost servant, practically a grandmother to Tristan. She had all but raised both the king and his father. Everyone in the castle respected her and listened to her without question. Except for Rory. She suspected that was why they clashed so frequently; Anna wanted only to control, while she wanted only to be free.

A thin stream of the warm liquid spilled into her mouth and immediately the muscles of the throat bunched, protesting. She was barely able to pull the cup from her lips before the tea spewed from her mouth, followed by a round of violent coughing. Anna turned, unsurprised, to watch as Rory retched, wiping the back of her arm across her mouth in disgust, "What is_ that_?" she croaked, staring at the cup in her hand.

"It's tea." Anna answered simply.

Rory shook her head, "That is not like any tea I have ever tasted before."

"That's because it's medicated."

Rory glanced down at her hand, "With what?"

"Drink it and I'll tell you." she turned to check on the wax.

"Oh that's comforting." Rory croaked sardonically, throwing the covers off.

"Leigh, I wouldn't do anything to hurt you." she said without turning. Rory snorted, but said nothing as she made her way to the chest of drawers across the room to set down the cup. Anna turned at the sound and stared at Rory for a moment, "I would never do anything to hurt you because Tristan would have my head, if that's any consolation."

Rory stopped mid-stride, only a few feet from the dresser. She opened her mouth but didn't speak before turning to face Anna, "What?"

"Don't be coy. You know you amuse him. He would be livid if I poisoned you."

Rory watched Anna as she turned back to prod the wax with a long piece of flat wood. It was true enough. Anna loved Tristan, that much Rory knew, and even if Tristan wouldn't have punished her harshly for killing her, Anna would never do anything to hurt _him_. And so Rory, against her better judgement, drank the tea in four large, stinging gulps. It took all her willpower not to throw it back up and she stood still for a moment, one hand over her mouth and the other over her stomach, waiting for the nausea to pass.

Anna turned around and smiled lightly, "See? Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Rory waited a moment to speak and when she did it came out in a croak, "_What_ was that?"

"Queen Anne's Lace." she turned back to prod the wax.

Rory shook her head, leaning against the wall, "What?"

"Queen Anne's Lace." she repeated, not looking at Rory, "Wild carrot seed. It prevents pregnancy." Rory froze, her hand pulled partly away from her mouth. Anna, obviously aware of her reaction but ignoring it, continued to prod the wax. "This should be ready in a few hours."

"It prevents pregnancy?" Rory asked, dazed.

"Yes. I know it doesn't taste wonderful. And you'll have a little inflamation, dear, but all in all its for the better."

"Wha-" Rory broke off, shaking her head, too dazed to really be angry. "I am not sleeping with Tristan!"

"Not yet, perhaps." Anna answered, turning to face her.

"No, not just not yet. I'm not going to. Ever."

Anna sighed, shaking her head, "Alright. Fine. Maybe not. But this can't hurt. Taking precautions can't hurt."

"It doesn't matter, I–"

"Leigh." Anna cut her off, coming forward to take Rory's hands in hers, "Leigh maybe you won't. Maybe you will. I don't know and neither do you. But the fact of the matter is that you are a smart girl. You're an extremely smart girl. You do not want to end up with a child right now." Rory opened her mouth but Anna shushed her. "This is for the best, whether you do give yourself to him or not. I say you're a smart girl because you know that if you get pregnant nothing will happen. Perhaps Tristan would wish to marry you for the child, perhaps he wouldn't. But regardless of what he wants, he is the king, and so his desires in the way of a wife mean nothing. You would be alone to raise a child. Believe me when I say that you do not want to end up with the bastard child of a king."

Rory stared at her, breathing evenly against the anger that was building in her. But it was difficult to be angry at Anna as she held Rory's hands in her wrinkled fingers. As she stared at Rory with the softest expression she'd ever seen on the old woman's face. As she confided in her, protected her against the trials of being a woman. There was a solidarity in Anna's words that Rory had never sensed before. And so she couldn't be mad. Albeit Anna was probably lying; Rory was sure she would protect Tristan against the accusations of an illegitimate child rather than Rory.

But still, she couldn't be mad at one of the few people who genuinely had help to offer her.

But she was _not_ going to sleep with Tristan.

--------------------------------

Rory stood across from Logan later that day, stepping carefully to her left while he moved to his as well. The circled each other slowly, swords held at their sides. The training arena was empty, save for the two of them. The men had already gone for their supper, worn out, bleeding, and bruised after sparring for several hours. They'd each had to fight two of their fellow trainees, as well as Rory and Logan before they could go. Everyone but Nick in his fight against Rory had landed flat on their backs. After an extended practice Logan had had to end that duel, saying that it could have gone on for days if he'd let it. The future general, however, had bested him with difficulty.

Now the men were gone and Logan had challenged her to a duel. They'd been at it for nearly twenty minutes, neither able to accomplish much. She watched him move, her eyes constantly scanning between his legs, arms, and face. There was a tensing of his arm, minuscule, she almost missed it, and then he was lunging at her. She deflected deftly, raising her sword to block his own and then skipping out of the way as he swiped for her again. She saw his face light up, a grin creeping on. She ignored his amusement, focusing on his body rather than his face. Logan faked left and she raised her arm slightly. His grin widened as he moved as if to strike again, but his thrust was interrupted with a crashing from the forest to their right.

Rory, who had practically been raised in the woods, recognized the sound of deer hooves when she heard them; Logan, however, did not, and so his head snapped around in the direction of the noise. He was only distracted for a moment, but she swiped her foot across his ankles, bringing him crashing down on his back. Logan collapsed with a grunt, swearing under his breath as he glared up at her from the ground. She smirked, shaking her head, "You shouldn't be caught off guard."

He stood easily, without the use of his hands, his eyebrow cocked. He'd realized it had been a deer, "I shouldn't be caught off guard?" she shook her head, grinning. But the grin was quickly wiped away as he darted straight for her. She barely had time to stumble back a step before Logan was at her, leaning forward so that his shoulder caught her in the stomach. She would have toppled back if it weren't for the arms that clasped behind her knees, hauling her over his shoulder as he stood straight towards the end of his sprint. She gasped, her fingers reflexively clutching the back of his shirt so she wouldn't fall. He'd stopped running but went into a spin, the weight of her over one shoulder pulling him into it.

"Logan!" she shrieked, punching his back without letting go of his shirt.

He laughed, "Yes?"

"Put me down."

"I'm sorry, what?" he turned as if trying to face her, but it swung her around again. She kicked but her feet only caught air and so she pinched him, but he just laughed. "Logan I'm going to kill you."

"Are you?" he grinned, jumping lightly so she shouted again. "Who's the one that doesn't need to be caught off guard?"

"You manhandled me. It's not the same as having a skill." she deadpanned.

He snorted, "Just because I took advantage of your inferiority as a woman does not mean that I--_ow_!" He yelped as she pinched him harder than before. "Damn woman. I was only pointing out a fact."

"Put me down."

"No. I think I'll keep you like this." he stepped as if starting towards the castle and Rory did the last thing she could think of. It was completely unprofessional, but she snaked her hand around his back reached for his side. Logan reacted immediately, jumping and yelling as she tickled him. "That is not fair. That's not the same as having a skill." He jostled her until her hand broke away from his side and she was strung farther over his shoulder, grabbing onto the bottom of his shirt to hang on. And he started back towards the castle.

Rory swore quietly, Shifting her hips until she was positioned better. "What are you doing?" he asked, shifting his shoulder.

"Nothing to concern yourself with." she answered as she pushed up with the muscles of her abdomen so that her chest was parallel with the ground rather than against his back. She grabbed his shirt higher up to push down on so that she would stay up as he plodded down the trail to the castle.

He glanced at her side, which was all of her that he could see. "Hey, what are you– " but he broke off in laughter as her fingers found his side again, this time tickling him harder than before. His body jerked and in reaction he swung her off his shoulder, dropping her. A surprised shriek escaped before she could stop it as the ground rushed towards her, but Logan seamlessly caught her a few feet from the ground, one arm around her back and the other wrapped behind her thighs.

He smirked at her, swinging her around, "You should be more careful."

She rolled her eyes, "Put me down."

Logan laughed, his head falling back as he set her gently onto her feet. He looked past her, his eyes still creased around the corners, "Hey Tristan."

Rory's eyes widened as she twisted around to see the king standing on the trail, his arms crossed as he watched the exchange. She wondered briefly how much he'd seen. He looked amused rather than angry, she realized with relief. Before he had usually been irate when he saw them like this. "Having fun?" he asked, and there was an edge to his voice she didn't recognize. It did make her realize, however, that he was not pleased with their performance.

"I was just teaching your trainer to keep on her guard." Logan explained, wrapping an arm around Rory's shoulders.

She glanced over at him, her eyebrow arched, before shrugging him off, "Except not."

He just grinned at her, stepping towards the castle, "Except yes." he answered back before glancing towards Tristan. "I need to get back to arrange your escort for tomorrow." Tristan nodded, uninterested. "Do you want to take any of the new men with you?"

He nodded again, "Two or three of the most advanced. Just so they can get a feel for what they'll be doing soon." he was quiet for only a moment, "Bring Nicholas Dreeden. Decide on the others who will come." Logan nodded, bowing his head to each of them before setting off back towards the castle.

Rory turned to look at Tristan but he wasn't paying attention to her. Instead he was looking into the woods that surrounded them. After a stretch of silence he headed towards the practice pavilion. She watched him go, standing still for a moment before following him. They walked in silence as they neared the practice arena, a stale wind keeping them from heating up too badly. They were nearly under the shade of the wall-less roof before she spoke. "You're leaving?"

He nodded, still not looking at her, "Just for a week. Maybe eight or nine days."

"May I ask where you're going?" she said quietly, glancing around them. The last time they'd been alone here hadn't ended well.

He laughed lightly, "No matter what my answer would be, it wouldn't stop you."

She bit her lip, grinning, "No, probably not."

"Rivenlear." he supplied without further prodding.

"Rivenlear?"

"Rivenlear."

She shook her head, "But I thought you were going to refuse his proposal?"

"I am. But I still need to visit him, to keep the peace. I wouldn't want to offend him." he shook his head, "To do that I just have to convince him that someone else would be much better suited for his daughter."

Rory's eyebrow quirked and she folded her arms, "Good luck."

"What?" he asked, turning to face her, "You don't think I can?"

She shook her head, "I think he'll be hard pressed to find another suitor his daughter will be quite so willing to marry for political reasons."

Tristan watched her for a moment, uncomprehending, "Why is that?"

She laughed lightly, stepping around the pavilion as she spoke, "Don't be modest now, Tristan. Almost any girl who marries for her father's gain has to make peace with the fact that her husband will be disgusting pig of a man at least twice her age who has no regard for her comfort or pleasure." she turned around to face him, a challenging grin in place, "Imagine that she gets placed with you instead. You have a reputation of not only pleasing women, but making them swoon. You're young, golden, and strong." she shrugged, turning away from him again to twirl in a circle around him, "Besides," her lip quirked, "you have all your teeth." Tristan laughed lightly, more amused by her antics than he speech. "But back to my story of the soon-to-be-devastated Princess of Rivenlear. She's paired with you, giving her a future to hope for rather than dread. She's started to not hate her father so much. I'm sure she's preparing for your arrival with abandon because she is positive you've come to accept; she's probably happier than she's ever been in all her life–" Rory broke off abruptly, coming to a stop several feet from him.

She stared at him for a moment, tilting her head. He smiled softly, folding his arms across his chest, "What?"

"How long has it been since you've seen her?"

He shrugged, shaking his head, "Two years, maybe?"

Rory's eyes nearly popped from their sockets, her jaw dropping before she threw her arms out to continue her spinning and proceed with her prediction. "So it's been two years since she's seen you. Her memories of you are that of a thirteen year old _swooning_ over the white knight, the noble king of the land to the north." she twirled into dangerously close proximity of him, but didn't seem to take notice as she continued, "But now, when she sees you tomorrow, she'll realize that it wasn't all a dream. She hasn't been building you up for all these years. You really are everything she thought you would be–" Rory broke off in a gasp as he grabbed her around the waist, twirling her in a graceful circle once before bringing her to rest against his chest, one of his arms curled around her waist while her hands rested on his chest, where they'd fallen when he grabbed her.

She stared up at him, their faces inches apart, her eyes wide. She swallowed, her breathing uneven as she finished shakily, "And then you crush her. You tell her it wasn't what she thought." Rory whispered, only now realizing exactly how unamusing the situation was. Tristan stared at her; held her against him, but there wasn't any of the tension there had been two days ago. She was able to relax against him, to rest against his arm rather than have her entire body tensing against his touch.

"You really think that?" he asked quietly, his gaze locked with hers.

Her mouth opened for a moment before she could form a coherent thought. "Which part?"

"All of it."

She exhaled quietly, pressing her lips together, "I do, about you being better than the rest. And I do about how happy she'll be right now. And about how devastated she will be tomorrow."

Tristan stared at her, his expression indecipherable, "And you think I should accept the offer." he said quietly. It wasn't a question.

Rory gazed up at him, unwilling or unable to break eye contact as her hands slid down his chest slowly, unconsciously, to rest on his biceps. "I think," she said softly, "That you should do what you want. I don't think you should be forced to take a wife you don't want just because you're king."

Tristan stared at her, penetrated her in a way he never had. He was trying to see how much she really believed; trying to see if she was telling a lie. But he saw none. The muscles in his throat worked against some wordless emotion. It wasn't pain. It wasn't affection. It was something else that made his eyes shine and she saw in a glimpse she was sure he didn't mean for her to recognize, that she had just given him hope. That she had given him the ability to say no to a woman he could never love or respect, but had been considering as a wife because she would be good for his people. Rory saw in a flash that quickly faded: Tristan had not intended to say no. He had not yet fixed himself to the idea that he would refuse her because the guilt would have been too much. She saw his eyes light, his face clear, and in a rush that took her breath away he wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her tight against him. Her arms instinctively caught around his neck as the air was crushed from her lungs before he swung her in a circle.

A surprised laugh bubbled from the back of her throat as he swung her and her hands clutched the back of his shirt harder. He set her on the ground, pulling back to look at her. There was pure joy in his gaze, something she'd never seen on him before. He looked lighter, brighter than she'd ever seen him, as if some heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He held her away from him so that he could look into her face with nothing but hope and thanks; no tension, no pressure, and no temptation. There was none of the usual burning in her lower stomach that had currently accompanied Tristan's touch. It was all comfortable; it was the way he would touch a friend, the way he would look at a friend.

He sighed, squeezing her shoulders affectionately, "Leigh, you are amazing. Have I ever told you that?"

She laughed, unable to control the smile that spread across her face at his expression, "No, I don't think you have."

"Well, you are." he leaned down to brush his lips against her forehead and she gasped lightly, her hands flying to clutch his wrists without thinking and at the contact her skin burned.

Tristan froze, his breath still. Rory swallowed hard, her eyelids fluttering as she inhaled slowly to calm her erratically beating heart. She felt his fingers flex on her shoulders, reacting as their skin warmed on contact. His hands stayed in place for another moment before hesitantly shifting inward, brushing across her neck and coming to rest on her cheeks, turning her face up towards his. He opened his mouth, but couldn't speak at first. Finally after a stretch of silence he spoke quietly, "Leigh." his breath danced across her neck and cheeks.

"Hmm?" she breathed, unable to speak.

Again he tried to speak before he was able, his gaze drew down to her red, slightly parted lips before he could stop it, "I ca–" he broke off, his face torn. And so in silence, and with a difficulty she could see, he pulled his hands away, dropping them from her face.

He touched her arm gently and chills raced down her spine as he traced the contours of her arm down the curve of her elbow and around the gentle corner of her wrist until he held her hand in his, her fingers curled loosely around his index finger. He locked gazes with her and pulled her hand towards his face, raising it gently until he was able to touch his lips to the back of her hand, between the second and third knuckles.

Rory was able to breath normally as he did so and she watched him, unable to look away. "Thank you." he whispered again, his voice affected, "You don't know what you've done for me."

And with that the dropped her hand and turned, walking briskly back to the castle to be swallowed by the foliage.


	8. Chapter 8

Rory sat across from Max at a table in his study, which was considerably smaller than Tristan's. She stared at him with glazed-over eyes, her chin resting on the heel of her hand as he went on about the preparations for the arrival of Tristan's friends in a little more than two weeks. He wasn't looking at her, however, he was staring down at the parchment on his desk that had the plans scrawled on it. She wondered briefly why Max was the one planning everything, but didn't ask because then she would have to pay attention to the answer.

"–and so you see, I think the blue and silver would be best, but apparently because of the season, it would be better to go with a warmer color, an orange, perhaps, or a green." he looked up at her as if to ask for her opinion.

Rory sighed, dropping her hand to look up at him, "I like the blue and silver."

He nodded, "So do I." before looking back down to his desk.

"Max?" she asked after a moment of silence.

"Hmm?" he didn't look up.

She was quiet for a stretch before speaking again, "Why am I here?"

He glanced up at her, "What?"

"Why am I here? What do you need me for to plan?"

"Oh." he shrugged, "I thought it would be a nice break from the training." her eyebrow arched; he wasn't very convincing. After a moment of her scrutiny she sighed, shaking his head, "With Tristan not here and not caring even if he were, I need someone else to help with the plans. Finn and Paris decided that they would come and then invited all the rest but they aren't here to plan."

She shook her head, "But why are _you_ planning it at all? Why not have someone else do it?"

Max nodded, "We could have someone else, but you see, the situation is rather..." he searched for a word, "...delicate, you could say. I know Tristan better than nearly anyone and I don't want someone planning something that will upset him. With this being the tenth anniversary of his father's death I'm afraid he'll be unreachable. I told you before that he drinks himself into insensibility." Max sighed, "He knows his friends are coming to prevent him from doing anything rash, I just worry that it won't be enough." he glanced over at her, "Actually, I was hoping you could help me in that."

"Oh?" she asked, not liking where this was going.

"Yes. I was hoping you could stay with him." she opened her mouth to protest but he cut her off, "Just stay around him. Be with him. I've told you how you affect him and I realize you don't know how he was before you arrived, but Leigh, in the time since you've come Tristan is an entirely different person. He's happier than I've ever seen him. I don't know if it's you or the new men or just a new phase he's entered, but I know that I'll do anything to keep this up. Tristan is like a son to me, Leigh." he said the last part quietly, "Please, just stay around him until after his birthday. He'll return from Rivenlear at the end of the week and his friends will be arriving twelve days after that. They'll be here for a week, arriving the day before the anniversary of his father's death and leaving the day after his birthday."

"But if all of them will be here then why do you need me?"

"Because none of them calm him as you do."

She stared at Max for a moment, knowing that she was losing this battle, "But _why_?"

He shrugged, shaking his head, "We've all wondered, all tried to come up with a sensible solution. But I don't think there is one. I think it's just that you connect on a level the rest of us can't even touch."

She didn't answer, but dropped her shoulders, "One week?"

He nodded, crossing his arms over his chest, "One week."

-----------

"He said that?" Marty asked, surprised, as Rory walked slowly down the kitchen corridor with him.

She nodded, folding her arms over her chest, "Yes. I just don't understand. I mean, I know he likes me. We get along, I guess maybe you could even say we were friends. But to think that he's really that different around me?" she shook her head, sighing, "I can't see it." Marty didn't respond, but walked down the corridor uncertainly, chewing on the insides of his cheeks. Rory turned to look at him but he avoided her gaze. "What?" she asked, putting a hand on his arm to stop him. He halted hesitantly, still refusing to look at her. "What is it?" she asked again, squeezing his arm.

Marty sighed, shaking his head before glancing down at her, "I can't say, Leigh, because I've never seen him with you, but I can't imagine the king begin kind. In all honesty when you first started talking about him a few days ago I was shocked that you would speak with him. He's just so..." Marty trailed off, searching for a word to describe Tristan, "...cruel, almost."

"Oh?" she asked, dropping her hand from his arm.

"Yes. I mean Tristan, he...he doesn't care about others. I have never seen him be kind to anyone. I've never seen him laugh, maybe I've seen him smile three or four times. Sometimes I've wondered if he's even capable of emotion."

"He is." Rory said quietly, turning back towards the kitchen. She bit her lip, sighing as she thought back to the afternoon before he'd left. Marty didn't speak, but stared at her. After a moment of walking in silence she glanced over at him, "What?" He continued to stare, mouth open. "_What?_"

"You miss him." he answered slowly.

Her eyes widened, "What?"

"You miss him." he repeated, this time with conviction.

"No I don't." she replied, rolling her eyes.

"You do. You miss him and he's only been gone for five days."

"I do not miss him!" she protested, walking faster.

"You do." was all he said before jogging to catch up with her. "Are you planning on going all the way to the kitchen with me?"

"Not if you keep this up." she growled, refusing to look at him.

He laughed, throwing an arm around her shoulder, "I'm done. It's true though."

"Shut up. No it isn't."

They came to the entrance of the kitchen and Rory stopped in the doorway, catching Marty off guard and making him bump into her from behind. "You okay?" he asked, his arm dropping as she stilled.

"Yes..." she answered slowly, scanning the kitchen for a sign of the short red-headed woman from before. Sookie, who held some place in her memory that she couldn't put her finger on.

He leaned down to speak into her ear, "Then why did you stop?"

"I'm looking." she answered, still scanning the sparsely populated room. Lunch had recently ended and dinner wouldn't be prepared for several hours.

"For?"

"Sookie."

"Oh." he put a hand on the small of her back, guiding her into the room and towards a door on the far side, "She'll be outside with Jackson."

"Oh." she said quietly, recalling the bristled man she'd seen before. He didn't strike a chord in her memory. Rory squinted, raising a hand to protect her eyes from the sunlight that streamed down in the early autumn afternoon.

"Sookie!" Marty called as soon as they were outside, his eyes adjusting faster than hers. She noticed movement over to the left and saw the robust red-head turn. She was standing in a relatively large garden that obviously supplied vegetables for only the castle.

She waved, "Hi Marty." and beckoned him over to her. Jackson straightened as well, looking over to the door; his gaze fell unwaveringly on Rory and she felt her cheeks flush. It was a new sensation, to have someone know who she was, even if they only suspected. She hadn't worried like this since she was a child. Of course the first few days in the castle were nerve-wracking, but it was only a chance that someone would have found her out. This was certain. This cook knew who she was. And so did her husband. "Hi Leigh." Sookie smiled warmly at her, holding her hand out to grasp Rory's. Rory raised her hand, allowing Sookie to take it limply in her own. Sookie, keeping Rory's hand in hers, turned to look at the two young men that were helping Jackson to pull the vegetables up. "Jack, Sam, go inside and start that stew for the servants' dinner." They nodded, picking up the baskets at their feet and carrying in the vegetables they'd picked.

Marty nodded as well, motioning towards the kitchen, "And Sookie, I actually need to go talk to Mack about that hog for the king's birthday, so is it alright if I go do that now?"

"Yeah of course." she motioned him away, waving her hand in the direction of the butcher.

He turned towards Rory, touching her arm lightly, "Are you going to be alright?" She smiled and nodded, her throat suddenly too swollen to speak as she realized that Sookie was getting her alone. "Okay." he grinned, touching her cheek lightly before stepping in the direction that Sookie had motioned for. Rory watched him walk away, growing colder as he got farther and farther away. It was like he was taking some form of protection with him and leaving her alone. Leaving her exposed. She didn't trust Sookie, not yet. She was sure there would be a healthy reward for her head if Tristan ever found out who she was...if anyone knew how true the rumors about an escaped Hayden were. And so, though the afternoon was still warm with the memory of summer, she was cold, watching her armor walk away from her.

"So..." she turned at Sookie's voice, her eyes wide. Perhaps it hadn't been the best idea to come here. "How are you...Leigh...?" she said the name slowly, uncertainly.

Rory didn't answer, but instead stared at her, searching her face, trying to sort back through the memories she'd locked away ten years ago. Her gaze bored into Sookie, her eyes narrowed. The hair was familiar. She shining eyes. The voice and the way she waved her hands. Rory stared and Sookie said nothing, but allowed her to stand in silence as she realized what was going on in Rory's mind. "I'm fine." she said finally, still distracted, "How are you?"

"I'm well." Sookie said nothing else, but allowed Rory to continue staring.

After a stretch of silence an image flashed behind Rory's eyes. It was of her mother, back before the end of the world.

She couldn't have been more than five as she watched Lorelai standing in the kitchen of their Hartford manor, draped in a rich blue dress with her dark hair pulled halfway back in an elaborate twist. She was fuming, throwing her arms about as she raved about the audacity of the king. That he had the nerve to take Sookie away from them. Away from her family. Sookie spoke quietly, uncertainly, offering to stay with her best friend. But Lorelai waved a hand at her, telling her to go, that it was an honor and she wouldn't hold her back. And then Sookie had turned towards the door where Rory had been standing, and she'd smiled, beckoning the little girl inside.

Rory snapped back to the present, her eyes wide as she stared at the woman in front of her. Sookie smiled, her face lighting as she saw the recognition within the girl before her. She leaned in, pulling her into a hug gently to breathe into her ear, "Welcome home, Rory."

***********************

The next morning Rory leaned forward to touch the damp grass, stretching her legs after the morning run. She was sitting with her legs spread out, touching her forehead to the ground. Her heart pattered faster than it normally did after running and so she forced herself to stay like that for several minutes, breathing in and out slowly. She still couldn't calm down from her conversation with Sookie the afternoon before. Sookie had told her not to seek her out too often; she'd left the Hayden's employ only a few years before the death of the king, and afterwards she had narrowly escaped an inquiry. It was the first time Rory had ever been recognized; it was the first time she'd ever come close to being caught. Her blood still raced and had for the past day. She was on edge, jumping at everything.

"Leigh." she jumped at the hand that rested on her shoulder, a squeak escaping her involuntarily. She relaxed upon the realization that it was Logan. "Are you alright?" he asked, concerned.

She nodded, rolling her neck in a circle to relieve the tension. "I'm fine. I'm just tired." she glanced around, her eyes narrowed, "What happened to all the men?"

Logan laughed lightly, his eyes twinkling, "I dismissed them five minutes ago; I figured since the old guard was gone we could give them the morning off and just work with weights in the afternoon."

Again she nodded, pushing off the ground to jump up lithely, "Okay."

He watched her for another moment, his arms crossed.

"What?" she asked.

"_Are _you okay?"

She sighed, leaning her head back, "I'm just....tired."

He nodded, showing that he didn't believe her, but wasn't going to push it, "Well gird your loins, because one of the servants just came down from the castle and informed me that the Queen Mother has requested a meeting with you."

Rory stared at him blankly, "What?"

"I know, I'd be terrified too. But apparently she wants to speak with you, and let me tell you, she's not a woman you want to keep waiting." he put a hand on her back and started to guide her towards the castle.

"But I don't–" she broke off, unsure of what to say. She'd seen the Queen Mother several times since entering the castle and had always gotten colder every time she laid eyes on her. The queen couldn't have been forty. Rory would have guessed she was 37 or 38 and had had Tristan when she was 15 or 16. She was beautiful, obviously, with shining yellow hair and clear green eyes. Her skin was light and smooth, not a wrinkle in sight. She had all the beauty of ice; sharp edges and glistening shine, but also the warmth of it. She was one of the coldest people Rory had ever seen. She seemed to be without emotion or feeling, and from the exchanges she'd seen between Tristan and his mother, there was no affection there. "Why?" she asked.

Logan shrugged, still propelling her forward, "To be honest? I haven't the slightest clue. My aunt's presence is not an enjoyable one and I avoid it as often as I can. My guess would be that she wants to talk to you about Tristan."

"Why does everyone want to talk to me about him?" she asked, exasperated.

"Probably because these days he speaks to you more than anyone else. Or if not that he speaks more, he cares more. He laughs with you and smiles, something he doesn't do with anyone else." he sighed, slowing their pace, "Tristan and his mother are not close in any sense of the word, but I know that brings her pain. She never made an effort to have a relationship with him, but she wishes she had one. I'm sure she wants to know how you formed one with him so quickly."

Rory shook her head, "Tristan and I don't have a relationship. I might venture to say we're loosely friends, but nothing more."

Logan shook his head, "Regardless, she wants to see you." and with that he escorted her into the castle. He led her up the steps from the military wing and into the main part of the castle, taking her towards her room. "Anna is here to help you get ready."

Rory opened her mouth to protest, but knew it wouldn't do any good, and so she just let him lead her along in silence.

After a moment Logan spoke, "Okay, Leigh. Just.....don't speak until she speaks to you. Don't offer anything she doesn't ask for. Don't tell her anything about Tristan that you don't think he's told her–"

"How am I supposed to know what he has and hasn't told her?" she asked, cutting him off.

Logan just laughed, "Anything he's ever told you, chances are he hasn't told her. Just don't say anything she couldn't have seen for herself."

"Why?"

"Because she twists everything. She's a bitter, bitter person, Leigh."

Rory shook her head, twisting to face him, "Why?"

Logan stopped, looking at her for a stretch without speaking. Finally he closed his eyes, turning away, "Ask Tristan."

He started to walk again, but she grabbed his arm, stopping him, "Tristan isn't here for me to ask."

He grimaced, running a hand through his hair, "It isn't really my place to say." Rory's eyebrow arched, her grip not easing. They stared at each other for a moment, neither moving.

"Logan." she said finally, gripping his arm tighter.

He chewed on the insides of his cheeks, watching her, "All I'm going to say is that the late king chose her when she was fourteen. She dearly loved her husband." he turned to continue down the hall.

And in Rory's mind it clicked. Of course she loved her husband. It was the same situation she'd been trying to explain to Tristan with the princess of Rivenlear. She had probably been preparing herself for a marriage to some old Lord and then the young king took an interest in her. "And then he didn't stay faithful." Rory whispered. Logan heard her and froze. Rory started towards him, "Everyone knows the king had mistresses. It would have made it even worse for her if he chose her in the beginning." She came even with Logan, "That's why she's bitter? That's why she can't even look at Tristan?"

He glanced over at her, shaking his head lightly, "You've noticed that she doesn't look at him?"

Rory nodded, "I notice everything."

Logan sighed, touching her back and once again moving her forward, "Come on." He stopped in front of her room, knocking on the door, "Just be careful." he said quietly as the door opened and Anna reached out, snatching Rory by the arm and pulling her inside.

**************

And so an hour later Rory found herself sitting across from the Queen Mother as she sipped tea. None had been offered to Rory. They sat in silence, the icy queen acting as if Rory weren't present. She glanced around the room, her hands resting in her lap. The layout of her suite was similar to Tristan's, though smaller. Rory had initially entered the main chamber that held only a mirror, a vase of flowers, and a large chair. Three rooms had branched from it; now she was in a large sitting room. There was the table they were at, with four chairs around it, two large cushioned chairs with a small table between, a mirror, and an armoire off to the side. There were books and knitting scattered about the room, flowing white and light blue curtains over the windows, and vases full of bright flowers along the table tops.

She assumed that the other doorways had led to a bedroom and a powder room.

The Queen Mother herself wore a light green dress that looked to be extremely uncomfortable to Rory. Her skin was alabaster and full, but sitting so close to her Rory saw that the beginnings of thin lines creased her eyes and mouth. It didn't retract from her beauty, however, it added to it. Her hair was full and clean, flowing halfway down her back. It was pulled half back, leaving her face free of it. Her nails were long and clean, filed to perfect half-moons. She wore a delicate golden necklace with a lacy cross as the bottom, falling between her breasts. Her wedding ring still rested on her finger.

"I hear my son has been spending a lot of time with you." Rory jumped, surprised as the silence was broken for the first time.

She turned back to face the Queen Mother, "We've spoken, yes, your highness."

She nodded thoughtfully, pressing her full lips together, "And how is he?"

"He's well." Rory said quietly, unsure of where this was going. The queen sounded sincere enough.

"He's taken a liking to you. He doesn't usually take a liking to the servants."

Rory stared at her, shocked at the easy note in the queen's voice. It was as if she were purposely offending Rory, but acting as if she didn't know she was doing it, "I'm not a servant." she said quietly.

"Hmm?" the queen glanced down at her as if she hadn't heard her completely.

"I said I'm not a servant."

A perfectly shaped blonde eyebrow raised as the queen set her teacup down, "You don't think so?" she asked, her voice unreadable.

Rory shook her head lightly, "I was originally part of the new guard. Now I'm training them. I am not a servant."

The queen didn't respond, rather, she stared at Rory, her gaze calculating and cold. Rory, who normally would have felt the urge to shiver under the scrutiny, stared back. "It's touching that you think so." the queen replied calmly, picking her up her teacup again.

The vast majority of the muscles in Rory's body were clenched, her fingers curled so tightly that her nails bit into her palms and her knuckles ached. She glared at the Queen Mother, who had gone back to acting as if she weren't present. "Was there anything else you wanted?" she asked through clenched teeth, ready to storm from the room. The queen acted as if she hadn't heard Rory's question, just raised the cup to her mouth, sipping daintily. She waited another moment for the woman before her to say something, but she was silent. And so Rory pushed herself back from the table, stood, and turned towards the door.

The queen's voice stopped her cold, "Have you given yourself to my son?" Rory turned, staring at her without answering. That was why the queen had wanted to meet her? To ask if she'd slept with Tristan? The queen raised her gaze to meet Rory's, "He'd been planning to accept King Harold's proposal of marriage to his daughter." she stood, taking a step towards Rory, "But yesterday I was informed that he would, in fact, be declining the offer." she tilted her head, crossing her arms over her chest, "You were the last person he spoke to before he left for Rivenlear."

Rory watched her, her heart beat increasing even as confusion swept over her. The queen thought she was responsible for Tristan's refusal to marry the princess of Rivenlear. Because she thought Rory was sleeping with him. Tristan's debauchery was known throughout the kingdom; did she really believe that he would let liaisons with her would stop him from marrying? It hadn't stopped Tristan's father. "And?" she asked, folding her arms as well.

"And you convinced him not to marry her."

"I did not." she shook her head.

"Then why was he planning to marry her before he spoke to you?"

Rory stared at her, her face blank, "Are you so sure he was?"

The queen stared back, her gaze stone, "Yes. And if you were anything but a selfish jade you would know that in keeping him from a future wife you could be endangering the whole kingdom, including yourself." Rory opened her mouth to respond, but the queen continued acidly, "Tristan has no heir. In three weeks he will be twenty two and he doesn't even have a wife yet. With war and assassination a constant threat he could die without leaving anyone of his bloodline to take the throne. Mitchum is the heir presumptive until Tristan has a son, but if he dies without having one then his time as king meant nothing. The thing he was born to be, his birthright, will have been wasted." she stared at Rory for a moment, "Do you want that on your conscience?"

Rory bit the insides of her cheeks, watching the queen with a sick feeling stirring in the bottom of her stomach, a guilt that she couldn't push down, "I have things to do." she turned to leave.

"Have you given yourself to my son?" the queen asked again.

Rory twisted back around, "That's really none of your concern."

The queen shook her head slowly, drained, "On the contrary, Leigh. It's everyone's concern."

******************************

Rory laid on the lawn next to Marty, staring up at the night sky in silence. Stars twinkled across the dark expanse, but there wasn't as much to see here as there was in Stars Hollow. Here, there were woods around parts of the castle, blocking sections of the sky. But still Rory laid, staring into eternity. Autumn had begun, the nights getting colder and coming sooner. A chilled wind blew above them, the type of wind that ran before a storm, rustling the trees across the lawn; they hadn't yet turned. Most were still a dark green.

"I've never heard of the queen getting angry." he said finally, his quiet voice breaking the silence.

"Mmm." was the only noise she made in response.

"So she wanted to meet you just to ask if you were sleeping with Tristan?"

Rory shivered lightly against the cold, thunder rumbling in the distance, "And to figure out if I was really the reason he refused the princess of Rivenlear. Because obviously I'm in his bed every night and therefore he won't marry anyone while our affair is going on." she snorted, "Really, even if I was sleeping with him, it's like she doesn't know her own son at all. Is it possible that she really believes copulation with anyone would stop him from marrying someone else? Really?" She fell silent, shifting on the dry grass. Marty didn't respond. After a pregnant silence she spoke, "What?"

"Are you, Leigh?" he asked quietly. Again thunder rolled in the distance, closer than before. Rory didn't respond, uncertain of what he was asking. "Have you given yourself to him?" he breathed.

She shot into a sitting position, twisting to glare at him; the sharp wind hit her full in the face, "No, Marty."

"Do you want to?" he pressed, sitting up as well. She could just see his face in the moonlight, concerned. Marty didn't shiver, ignoring the cold better than her.

Her jaw dropped, "_What? No!_ Are you serious?"

He held his hand up defensively, "I'm just asking."

"No, I don't. And even if I did it wouldn't matter."

"Then be careful."

She shook her head, "What do you mean be careful?"

But before he could answer she gasped, jumping as lightning tore the sky above them. Thunder reverberated to the north and the wind picked up. It would be a dangerous storm.

Marty sighed, leaning back, "Leigh, like I said before, I've never seen you with Tristan, so I can't say, but just from the way everyone is acting about you talking to him and from the way you talk_ about _him, there has to be something there. I've been in the castle for seven years and I've never known Tristan to spend this much time around anyone. I've never known him to become close to anyone so quickly. I don't think he sees women as either friends or sexual outlets; I think to him they're one and the same."

She shook her head, "What are you saying, Marty?"

He exhaled slowly, licking his lips, "I just don't want something to happen that you'll regret, Leigh."

She stared at him, emotionless as the first drop of rain landed on his cheek. She swallowed hard, trying to push back the memory of her first week at the castle, when Logan had sent her to Tristan's room. Because Tristan had told him to. "I'm not...." she said quietly, biting her lip, "I wouldn't."

"I know you wouldn't. If you were thinking clearly. But you don't seem to think clearly around him." Marty said quietly, brushing away the rain from his cheek. He pushed himself off the ground, holding his hand out to her, "Come on." several more drops hit them, "We need to get inside." she took his hand, allowing him to help her up as she tried to fight off the daze that was coming over her. Marty led her up to the castle.

He led her through her stupor, an arm wrapped around her waist. She didn't even feel the rain hitting her.

*****************

Rory woke slowly the next morning to rain hitting the roof. She sighed, rolling over to burrow deeper under the covers. They never woke her for the run when it was raining. She didn't know why, they still made the men go. But she wasn't complaining. She loved the rain. Not running in the mud. She shifted, her legs sliding smoothly against one another; they were still silky from being waxed the week before. She uncurled her arms above her and pointed her toes down, stretching against sleep as a yawn overtook her.

There was a knock at the door. "Yes?" she relaxed further into the covers.

The door opened to reveal Anna, "Time to get up, Miss Leigh." she said as she pushed her way inside.

Rory's eyes narrowed, sleep retreating from her as her brain unfogged. She sat up, watching Anna sift through the wardrobe in her room, "What did you just call me?"

Anna turned to glance at her, "Hmm?"

"What did you call me?"

Anna shook her head, confused, "Leigh?"

"No." she shook her head, "You called me _Miss_ Leigh."

"Oh." Anna nodded, "Yes, very well. Miss Leigh." she turned back to the wardrobe.

Rory stared at her in disbelief, "Are you alright?"

"Of course." she pulled down a dress and turned towards the bed, "Why wouldn't I be?" she motioned for Rory to get out of bed.

She climbed down, her eyes still narrowed as she took the dress from Anna and walked towards the changing screen, "You have _never_ called me Miss."

"No?" Anna asked, uninterested as she turned to do something else.

"No." Rory pulled her nightgown over her head and tossed it to the floor before pulling the dress from the top of the screen. "Are you sure you're not sick?"

"Yes, dear. I'm sure." she replied from out of sight.

"See!" Rory called triumphantly, pulling the dress on and poking her head out from the screen, "there is was again. Being nice." she situated the dress before walking out from the screen, "It doesn't suit you." she walked over to Anna, who rolled her eyes. Rory turned so that the old woman could tie the cord that laced up her back and corseted the light blue dress.

She may have been acting kind, but Anna's hands were swift on her back, pulling roughly and quickly, tightening the string. "Breakfast is being served in the side dining hall. The Queen Mother wishes for you to join her."

Rory glanced behind her, trying to see Anna's face, "What? Why?"

The old woman shrugged, "Tristan pays special attention to you, so apparently the whole royal family has a vested interest in you." Rory opened her mouth to reply, but gasped as Anna jerked the string one last time and tied it deftly.

"Okay." Rory groaned, laying a hand on her stomach, "I take it back. You're not being nice."

Anna grinned, twisting Rory around to pat her cheek lightly, "And you're a joy, dear."

Rory's nose wrinkled, "See? Sarcasm suits you much better."

Anna nodded towards the vanity. "Sit."

She grimaced, glancing towards the high backed chair, "Do I have to?" she asked.

"Yes." Rory was about to protest but Anna held up a hand, cutting her off, "Don't bother."

She sighed, collapsing into the chair. Her hair was clean from the bath she'd taken the night before after coming in from stargazing. "You are not nice." was all she said as Anna went to work, raking a brush through her hair. It was getting to the point that Rory couldn't feel her scalp anymore and after seven weeks of the abuse to her head it no longer hurt, but she still complained for good measure. Anna ignored her, as usual. It only took a few moments for Anna to twist two sections of her hair and pin them back. She tried for powder but Rory flatly refused and Anna didn't push it.

"The Queen Mother is waiting for you in the side dining hall."

Rory grimaced, "I'd rather eat with the pig–"

Anna clapped a hand over her mouth, "_For shame!_ You'd do well to watch the way you speak, Leigh Danes." she hissed, pulling her hand away.

She pressed her lips together, sighing, "I'd rather not go eat with her."

"No one would. But someone has to do it." she sighed, slipping behind Rory and dropping a silver necklace over her head. It was a cross similar to the one the queen wore, but smaller and, in Rory's opinion, prettier. She wanted to protest, simply because she guessed this was for the approval of the queen, but again refrained.

Once the necklace was in place she stood, turning towards the door, "Am I done?"

Anna nodded, "Go on."

And so she left, leaving Anna in her room. She turned right outside of her room, heading slowly towards the grand staircase. She didn't think this was the best idea. She'd already offended a woman she assumed wasn't used to being offended. And now the woman wanted to have breakfast with her. She couldn't see how it would end well. Rory sighed, biting her bottom lip. And the conversation would inevitably turn to Tristan, which she didn't want. She hated talking about him, not because of anything about him, but because the conversations always turned to people being shocked that he spent so much time with her or simply that he actually spoke to her.

Rory rolled her neck in a circle to loosen the tension that had been building since Anna had announced that she'd be dining with the Queen Mother. She sighed, stopping for a moment to lean against the stone wall; anything to lengthen the time until she saw Tristan's mother. She bit her lip, closing her eyes. Around the next corner was the hall leading to the grand staircase. Once she rounded the corner it would be in her view and then she'd have to walk at a normal pace. Because people would stare if she inched through the main part of the castle. And she'd have to sit with the Queen Mother. For an indefinite amount of time. This anxiety boiling in her stomach was akin to the dread that had rested in the pit of her stomach as she was brought to the castle nearly two months ago and again with Sookie earlier in the week. It was the feeling of exposure. It wasn't the same as being around Sookie, who she hadn't been sure would expose her. It wasn't the same as being around Tristan, who seemed to be taken aback by everything she did, affected by everything she said whether it evoked anger or amusement. With Tristan she didn't fear exposure, because he wasn't wary of her.

His mother was. She didn't like Rory, that much was obvious, but she was suspicious beyond that. It was more than curiosity as to why Tristan enjoyed her company. The Queen Mother didn't trust her; she knew that something was askew with the eighteen year old girl from a minor village who could defeat half of the king's guard in single combat. If the Queen Mother ever realized who she was, she might as well dig her own grave.

Rory sighed, running a hand over her face in frustration. There was nothing she could do. To refuse the queen would be imprudent; Tristan may tolerate her improper behavior when they were together, but his mother certainly wouldn't. She felt her heart sink, debating with herself silently when a voice around the corner made her start, her heart beating faster. Two familiar voices were moving towards her, coming up the stairs.

She pushed herself off the wall, darting the last stretch of the hallway before swinging around the corner silently. She careened to a stop, eyes wide. The two men came to the top of the stairs and continued talking, moving towards her without seeing her.

"Tristan!" his head snapped around, a reflexive grin cracking his lips as he caught sight of her. She smiled, her mind and body unconnected as she found herself dashing towards him at full speed. Tristan caught her easily, swinging her once as if she weighed nothing, pulling her close. Rory wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him close. She was amazed at how warm he was, how hard his chest was. She'd felt it before, but only at times she pushed him away or simply rested her hands against it, never crushed this close to hers before. She smelled his skin and it was sun and wind and trees and it invaded her in a way it never had before. It was like spending seven days away from him made it stronger, made her forget it.

A storm still raged outside of the castle but the room was brighter than it had been in a week.

Rory pulled back far enough to see his face but Tristan kept his arms around her. "When did you get back?"

"Late last night."

Her stomach fluttered at his voice and she realized, with reluctance, that she had even missed that. And she vaguely realized that Tristan's return was why Anna had been so cordial. "I thought you were going to be gone for a few more days?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, "We finished early."

"How was Rivenlear?" she asked.

Tristan rolled his eyes, shaking his head lightly, "Disturbing."

"Oh?" her eyebrow arched, the small of her back tingling where his hands rested. "How so?"

He groaned, shaking his head lightly, "Do young girls always have to be so _dramatic_?"

Rory laughed, leaning back. Tristan released her and she suddenly felt a light chill, but ignored it, "I told you she would be."

He shook his head, eyes wide, "I've never seen anything like that before."

Rory glanced over at Logan, who had been walking with Tristan, and laughed, "What did you tell them?"

At that Logan laughed and Tristan smirked, "That the prince of Gildren is looking for a wife."

Rory looked between them for a moment, uncertain of how to react. "I thought you were friends..."

"We are." Tristan touched her hair absentmindedly, running a strand of it through his fingers, "But Finn needs someone to tie him down and forsake his wicked ways." She stared up at him, her expression unreadable. Truth be told she'd missed what he'd said seeing as how all coherent thought had fled her when he touched her. It was like just having him back around her made her flustered and scattered. Made her heart beat faster. Made her forget everything. Everything had changed after he'd kissed her forehead.....after he'd almost kissed her. Tristan saw her staring at him and fell silent, his hand stilling in her hair. "What?"

She shook her head lightly, clearing it of the fog that had blanketed her mind once he touched her. "Nothing."

His lip quirked, his head turning slightly as his hand trailed from her hair to skim the smooth skin over her neck, trailing along the necklace, "Were you going somewhere?"

Rory grimaced, flinching, "Yes, actually. I was going to have breakfast with your mother."

Tristan froze, his body stiffening next to her. His gaze trailed down the chain around her neck to fall on the cross at the bottom of it. Recognition flashed behind his eyes before his expression became a mask, unreadable as she looked up at him. He blinked once, his voice dangerously empty, "What?"

She bit her lip, uncertain of why it had upset him, "Your mother wanted me to join her for breakfast...."

He didn't respond, but glanced at Logan instead, silent communication passing between the cousins. Tristan turned back to her and just stared at her for a moment before speaking. There was a tenseness in his voice she'd rarely heard, as if his next question was more than it seemed. "Do you want to eat with her?"

Rory opened her mouth, uncertain of how to answer. She knew he wouldn't care what she said either way, but didn't think it was wise to reject the Queen Mother. "I..." again she trailed off, uncertain.

But that was enough for him. He nodded as if she'd given a real answer and turned towards Logan, "I'll be right back."

He turned to go, but Rory reached for him. "Wait."

He twisted back around, his gaze finding her, "Yes?"

She stepped back, surprised for some reason that he'd turned to quickly, "Where are you going?"

Tristan didn't answer, but quirked his lip and turned back around, heading down the stairs.

Rory turned to Logan, "Where is he going?"

"My guess?" he asked, watching after his cousin, "To talk to his mother."

*

Tristan walked swiftly into the side dining hall, his eyes narrowed. His mother looked up from her untouched plate of food, unsurprised, "Tristan, dear, you're back."

He ignored her comment, coming to a stop several feet away from her, "Leave her alone."

His mother shook her head, feigning confusion, "I'm sorry?"

He glared at her, "Leave her alone. She isn't a pawn for you to manipulate and torture."

She picked up her glass, bringing it to her lips, "Who are you talking about dear?"

"Leigh." he hissed, leaning down, "You already spoke to her while I was gone, now leave her alone. She is not here for your amusement and you _will not_ destroy her with you deceit." she opened her mouth but he cut her off, "No. This is what you do, mother. You pick someone to push and hurt and torture until you break them. You twist things and lie and then sit back and watch to see how people crumble and I will not let you do that to her."

His mother stared at him without reacting, his words having no effect on her, "From the way you talk one would think I were the devil incarnate."

"Not incarnate." he snarled, unamused.

She smirked, "I'm not trying to destroy her for my own entertainment, Tristan."

He scoffed, pushing back from the table, "Please, mother, save your lies and poison for someone who doesn't see through you."

"I'm not, Tristan. I'm doing this for you."

"For me? How so?" he asked, disbelieving, as he turned back to face her.

She shook her head, standing, "If you don't see it now then soon you will."

He shook his head, narrowing his eyes at her, "What are you talking about?"

"You're letting a ridiculous infatuation cloud your judgement."

"Cloud my judgement? How?"

She took a step closer to him, "You were preparing to accept Harold's proposal before you spoke to her. You've lost a queen because–"

"No, mother." he cut her off, annoyed, "There will always be someone to be queen."

She shook her head lightly, "Tristan, I'm concerned for you."

"Don't be. And leave her alone."

"You see?" she asked, stepping closer to him, "You're going soft."

Tristan stared down at his mother, his gaze dangerously stony but fiery at the same time. This was why he hated his mother. She never spoke to him, never acknowledged him, unless it could get her power. Unless she had something to criticize. She was vile. She was poisonous. She was how he'd learned to be a king. Her version of motherly love had consisted of a heavy hand when he was young and a sharp tongue as he grew.

His body hardened, his voice dropping an octave as he regarded her, "You think I'm going soft?" he breathed dangerously.

She shrunk back visibly, burned and frozen at his gaze as she realized that she'd pushed too far, "At times, yes."

His eyes burned, "Your arrogance is grating on me, mother. Would you like for me to demonstrate that I haven't gone soft?" she pressed her lips together, not responding. "Think carefully before you speak." he added, "Because you'll be the example."

"No, Tristan, I don't think you've really gone soft. But I think you're in danger of it if you aren't careful." He shook his head minutely, his expression not changing as he glared at her heartlessly. "You see this, Tristan, this is most I've seen you be yourself in the past two months."

He cocked his head sardonically, his lip quirking though there was nothing amusing, as he saw what she was playing at. It was power, yes. But it was also more than that. "Don't worry, mother. I plan on finding a wife soon. I won't die before I leave you an heir who has your blood."

She blinked, surprised before she sneered, moving past him to exit the room, "Just don't make it a filthy half-breed."

Tristan's hand shot out and grabbed her elbow, twisting her around. He knew it hurt, but she didn't react as if she were in pain. "What did you just say?" he hissed

She stared up at him coldly, her face set, "When you do grant me a grandchild, don't let it fester and grow in that impure chattel you're in thrall to."

Tristan pulled her closer painfully, his body protesting having her so near, "You will _never _touch my children." he hissed, pushing her away. "Get out." She went without a glance back. Tristan stood still, breathing hard until he could get his anger in check. His mother was the only one that had this effect on him. The only one who made him hate them. And he did hate her. He hated everything about her. Hated that she'd given him birth into a marriage that quickly became loveless and kingdom that became his responsibility when he was still a child.

He was cold now, empty after speaking to her when before he'd been full. Before, after talking to Leigh. After seeing her and touching her and hearing her he'd been warm. Now there was nothing. Leigh created things. His mother always destroyed them.

He was still standing there when he heard footsteps behind him. He turned to see Logan and Leigh entering slowly.

"Are you okay?" Leigh asked, coming closer to him. He nodded, still unable to speak. She rested a hand lightly on his cheek. "You're hot." she said quietly.

He shrugged her hand away, his face burning painfully and gloriously where she'd touched him. But it only burned more when her hand left, "Its nothing."

Her face wrinkled in concern, but she said nothing, stung by his brush-off. Logan spoke next, "We saw your mother storming out."

Tristan nodded, refusing to look at Leigh, "Yes. She was being more perverse than normal."

Logan's eyes widened slightly and Rory felt the burning of guilt in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't imagine Tristan had fought his mother about her, but she couldn't think of what else could have brought it on, and from the way the Queen Mother had stormed from the dining hall there had been an argument, and she had lost. If Tristan had won, however, he showed no sign. He refused to look at her and shrugged her hand away, and it hurt more than it should have.

Much more.


	9. Chapter 9

Rory sighed lightly, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the light chill that blew through the autumn air. The smell of chopped wood and burning fires danced over her as she walked through the village surrounding the castle with Marty. He was going to check up again on the pig for Tristan's birthday and had asked if she'd like to come along, seeing as the men were conditioning today and Rory, hadn't wanted to be stuck inside the castle so had accepted. But had forgotten to bring a cloak or shawl.

Marty, seeing her shiver, pulled his own coat off and draped it over her shoulders. She smiled up at him in thanks before glancing back down and continuing on in silence.

"Leigh are you alright?"

She glanced up at him, distracted, "Hmm?"

Concern flickered across his face, "I asked if you were alright."

"Oh." her forehead scrunched and she looked back to the ground, walking slowly, "I guess so."

"You guess so?" he asked, unbelieving.

"Yes." she said quietly, biting her bottom lip and pulling his jacket tighter. It shouldn't have surprised her that Marty noticed when something was wrong with her. He noticed everything. Even when she didn't want him to. Even when no one else did.

"Leigh." he put a hand lightly on her shoulder, bringing her to a stop, "What's wrong? You've been like this for a week."

"Like what?" she asked, ignoring the wind in her face to glance up at him.

He sighed, shaking his head, "Upset. Quiet. You've been withdrawn ever since Tristan came back from Rivenlear. I thought you'd be ecstatic when he returned but instead you're worse than when he was gone."

She didn't answer and they stood in silence. It was true, she had been withdrawn since Tristan had returned. Because she'd barely spoken to him. As soon as he'd returned he'd held her, ran his fingers through her hair, stared at her in a way that made her chest burn. And then he'd spoken to his mother. And shaken off her hand. And refused to look at her. He still wouldn't look at her unless he didn't think she was watching, and in those moments he'd gaze at her, his expression at times unreadable and at others burning, pained. She hadn't again tried to speak to him because she didn't think she could handle it if he pushed her away again. She hadn't realized how much of a safety he'd been for her. How much of a warmth. Even when he was gone for a week she hadn't been this desolate, because the thought of him had kept her warm. Had kept her smiling. Now, now he was here. But it was like there was a stone wall between them. Something she had no way of ascending. It was desolation because he was here with her, but he might as well have been on the other side of the world. And it hurt.

Rory blinked as a sharp gust of wind mercifully allowed her to break her gaze away from his, "I don't know. I haven't really talked to him." she started walking again.

"Leigh–"

He reached for her and she turned sharply, "I don't know, Marty. I think maybe I'm just homesick." it was a lie. A flat out lie. She did miss her family terribly. She did miss her home. But she wasn't attached to it the way so many people became attached to their homes. In reality it was simply her foster home. In reality _this_ was her home. She told Marty she was homesick, but really, in a way, she felt as if she'd come home.

He stared at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You haven't talked to him at all?"

She shook her head, "Except for the day he came back, no."

"That's..." he trailed off, stunned. "That's not what I expected."

She laughed humorlessly, "No. It's not what I expected either."

*

Rory went with Marty as he spoke to the butcher and checked the hog's hooves and mouth and looked it over for lesions. He walked her back to the castle, towards the kitchen. "So you haven't talked to him at all?" he asked, holding the servant's door on the east side of the castle open for her.

She sighed, biting the insides of her cheeks to push back the throbbing that rose in her chest as she stepped through the doorway, "No, Marty, I haven't."

He shook his head, "It's the strangest thing. You know, I heard Logan and Max Medina talking about you the other day."

"Oh?" she asked, uninterested. Lately talking about Tristan had put her in a bad mood.

"Yes. They were talking about how much Tristan has changed." he said, "It sounded like they attributed it to you."

She shrugged heavily, pulling off his coat in the process, "I don't see how they could right now considering I haven't spoken to him." she held the heavy jacket out to him, "Thank you."

He nodded, "You're welcome. I'm serious, though. I hard them talking about you. And also, yesterday I was talking to Nicholas, you know he went to Rivenlear with the king?" Rory nodded to show that she did know. "Well, he told me that they left Rivenlear early."

Rory's head whipped around, "What?"

Marty nodded, "I know, it's surprising, isn't it? I was just saying, because I know you told me that Tristan said they got done early, but they didn't. Nicholas was saying that he was surprised they left. It's a two day journey, so they were only at the Rivenlear court for three. He said they probably could have stayed for two for three more days to smooth things over better, but the king wanted to leave."

She shook her head, "Tristan said they were done."

Again, he nodded, "Yes, I know. That's why I was surprised." he shrugged lightly, "I don't know, Leigh. Nicholas said the king was anxious to get back to Hartford. To get back to the castle."

Rory stared at him for a moment before shrugging, brushing it off. It didn't matter anyway.

Marty, as if sensing her unease with the subject, moved on. The new topic wasn't much better, because it was still about Tristan, but it was a slight step up from trying to figure out why he'd come home early, "If it's true that he is so fond of you, then there must be something else to it. I just don't understand–"

"Leigh."

Marty looked up, cut off halfway through his thought. Rory glanced up as well, "Oh, hey Logan." Tristan's cousin hadn't been ignoring her. He'd been perfectly polite. He actually acknowledged her existence.

"Hi." he spoke to her and nodded to Marty in way of greeting, "Tristan wants to speak to you."

She stared at him, unresponsive. "What?"

"He wants to talk to you."

"Now?" she asked.

He nodded, "Yes, now."

"Why?"

Logan shrugged, "Can I steal her from you?" he asked Marty, but didn't wait for an answer before slinging an arm over her shoulders and guiding her away.

"Why does he want to talk to me?"

"Because you're such a joy to debate with."

"Ha. Funny." she dead panned. "Really now, what does he want?"

Logan led her out of the servants' wing, "I don't know. He didn't divulge that information to me. He told me to get you, and that's what I'm doing." he shot her a wicked grin, "I'm sure I don't want to know all the things he says to you. My innocent ears might fall off for corruption."

Rory rolled her eyes, frustrated, "Logan, I highly doubt this is going to be amusing. He hasn't so much as looked at me in a week." her voice was harsh, and she knew she shouldn't take it out on Logan, but she also knew it would be better to snarl at him than at Tristan.

The king's cousin sighed lightly, shaking his head. They walked in silence for a moment, the humor slowly draining between them. Finally Logan spoke, "He always looks at you Leigh." he said quietly.

"No he doesn't." she protested, "He hasn't spoken to me or acknowledged me since the day he got back from Rivenlear. And you know, right now I'm not so sure I even want to see him."

Logan glanced down at her, amused, but didn't reply as he continued shepherding her down the hall and into the main part of the castle, "Well right now he wants to talk to you. Don't worry, I'm sure it's about the men."

"That doesn't make a difference." she huffed, folding her arms, "It still requires speaking to him."

Logan laughed, squeezing her tight against his side for a moment, "Oh Leigh, what did we do for entertainment before you had the audacity to insult the king?"

She ignored him, because she felt more that he was laughing at her than with her, "You're avoiding the subject. What is wrong with him?"

The amusement slowly drained from Logan's face, "He's a king, Leigh. I'm sure there are a great many thing that are bothering him."

She shook her head, "No more than there were a week ago."

He didn't respond, but his forehead scrunched in thought. Finally after a stretch of silence he spoke, "It's complicated, Leigh. It's extremely complicated."

"I think I can keep up." she muttered darkly, knowing that Logan wasn't going to tell her anything.

"Here." he said, leading her up the grand staircase and down the hall towards Tristan's study, "I don't know what to tell you, I was just commanded to deliver, and here you are."

She glared at him through narrowed eyes, "You're useless."

He grinned at her maddeningly, "You're sweet." before knocking on the door and walking away.

"Come in." was muffled through the door.

Rory closed her eyes momentarily, took a steadying breath, and pushed the door open. Tristan was sitting at his desk, looking down at a scroll that stretched across the width of it. She took a second to look him over: his golden, unruly hair, his solid shoulders and chest, the strong, tanned line of his jaw. She bit her lip, leaning against the doorframe, "You wanted to see me?"

He nodded, motioning towards the chair before his desk without looking up. Rory stepped into the room and shut the door quietly behind her, walking slowly to the empty seat. She felt it then. The anger. The hurt. The aching in her chest that she'd been trying to push away. She watched Tristan ignore her and it throbbed. He only took a moment more to look over the paper before him before sitting up and turning to her.

They sat in silence.

Tristan stared at her, his expression empty. And the pain in her chest sharpened.

"So." he said finally, "How are the men?"

Rory opened her mouth, but no words came, and so she closed it. She shook her head lightly, closing her eyes, "What?"

"How are the men doing?" he repeated, regarding her emptily and the pain in her chest grew, caving in until she felt as though there were a hole in her chest. She didn't know if it was where her heart was, but it was there, clogging her throat and making her ribs ache. "How is their training coming along?"

"You–" she broke off, shaking her head, "You want to know how the training is going?"

"Yes."

She exhaled sharply, pressing her lips together as the cavity in her chest vibrated, making her whole body weak. "Honestly Tristan, I can't keep up with you."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

"It's like you can't make up your mind. One week you hate me, the next you can't stay away from me, then you can't stand the sight of me and the next you'd be happy if I was trampled by a horse. You're absolutely impossible. You can't seem to make up your mind on what to think about me and it's dizzying." She looked up to see his reaction, but he didn't have one. His face was carefully blank. Rory sighed, "I'd just like to know what's going on, if that's all right with you, _Your Highness_." she added the last bit to spite him, if that were possible.

He ignored her petulant stab and studied her leisurely, blinking slowly. When he answered his voice was even and void of inflection, "Nothing is going on. I'm fine. I don't hate you. Obviously I can't stay away from you; I mean honestly, I'm having difficulty stopping myself from lunging over the desk and tearing your clothes off this instant–"

Rory flushed, "I didn't–"

Tristan ignored her interruption and continued as if she hadn't spoken, "Even if I despised your company, your body and face are enough to make any man happy at the sight of you, or at least the sight of them would give him the strength to stand anything you had to say. And I would probably be very put out if you were killed by a horse." his acidic sarcasm matched hers and the hole in her chest swelled.

She stared at him for a moment, her mouth opened in disbelief. "What...." Rory trailed off, unable to form her thoughts into words. She heard a rushing in her ears and wondered if it was linked to the heaviness in her limbs. Maybe she'd gone too far in her last complaint. But it was true. He was so hot and cold. More so than anyone she'd ever met. She sat in silence, unable to speak for several moments as the tension in the room diffused. He saw her face, she knew he saw the pain, but there was nothing she could do. She bit her lip, looking away from him, "I don't understand." she whispered finally, "What did I do?"

At that Tristan's empty face twisted, his forehead scrunching and his eyes narrowing slightly, "What?" he sounded genuinely confused.

Rory sighed, a stinging heat rising through her chest and into her throat as she spoke, "You want to know about the men?" she asked distractedly, "You never ask me about the men unless you're mad. Unless you don't want to talk to me."

He shook his head, "What makes you think I don't want to talk to you? I called you in here, didn't I?"

She nodded, "Yes, and I'm still trying to figure out why." his eyes narrowed again as he watched her, trying to figure her out. But his expression was dangerously blank again. "You want to know about the men?" she repeated weakly, unable to say what she felt, "You want to know about the men, but you haven't looked at me in a week."

"I'm looking at you now."

Her face snapped up and her gaze locked onto his. "No you aren't." she said quietly. "You're looking in my direction, but you're not seeing me. You aren't seeing anything." she whispered. Tristan's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard, but he said nothing. Just stared at her as the emptiness in his eyes slowly softened. "I've seen you look at me before Tristan. I've felt you look through me and into me and I've drowned in your eyes before." she shook her head lightly, pressing her lips together, "I've felt you look at me before. And this, this thing you're doing now? This isn't looking at me. You're looking around me. You're looking at my face. You're not looking at _me._ You haven't really looked at me since the morning after you got back from Rivenlear." She stood abruptly, turning from him. "I don't know what happened." she said quietly, walking towards the window, "I don't know what I did."

She heard his tired sigh, "Leigh, you didn't do anything."

"I must have done something." she said without turning around, "I don't know what to think, Tristan, I look into your face and all I see is hate and anger, and I honestly just have no idea what I did to bring it on you. I don't know what I did, but this look, this way you're staring at me. The way you've been avoiding me. I can't think of anything but that I've done something to make you hate me. And I don't want that. I don't want you to hate me." her voice broke and she felt the pain in her chest and she knew it was true. She didn't want him to hate her. She hadn't realized how much he meant to her. It was like every time this happened, every time he got mad at her, it cut her deeper and deeper. It was like every time he was mad it got more painful and then every time he smiled at her and touched her she came to need him more. But now he wasn't there.

"I don't hate you." he said quietly.

"You must." she protested, "Nothing else could account for the emptiness when you look at me. Why else would you be avoiding me? I've barely seen you in a week, Tristan. I've barely seen you and it's because you don't want to see me and I just want to know what I did that was so wrong. I want to know what I did." She was shocked at herself. Shocked at her fragility. She'd been through more than most people her age had nightmares about. She was stronger, physically as well as mentally than almost anyone else she knew. She could count on one hand the amount of times she remembered crying in all her life. She rarely got attached to anyone and it was even less frequent that she felt the need for someone. But she felt it with him. She was shocked at her own weakness. At the pain he was capable of causing her. And she hated it.

"Leigh." he said softly, next to her ear, and she jumped, surprised by his closeness. "Leigh." he said again, his voice no longer empty, "you didn't do anything wrong."

Even at his close proximity, even as his scent and his warmth invaded her senses, she wouldn't look at him. Though her body screamed at her, she refused to turn, "Then why do you hate me now?" she whispered; if she spoke any louder she was sure she would break.

She felt him shake his head, "I don't hate you, Leigh. And you didn't do anything. Trust me, I highly doubt there is anything you could do that would make me hate you. I doubt there's even anything you could say or do that would truly make me angry." She snorted humorlessly, but said nothing. If he only knew the secrets she held in her mind. If he only knew the secrets branded into her body, on her right hip, to be precise. Tristan's voice was no longer empty. It was full, gentle. It was pained. It was as if he were trying to tell her something, trying to communicate something through his words without saying it. "My avoidance of you is not your fault." he said quietly, closer now, so close. She felt his breath in her ear and it warmed her and pained her and thrilled her and destroyed her all at the same time. She shook her head, opening her mouth, but the words were too thick. Tristan, as if knowing what she was trying to say, took her face in his hands and forced him to face her. She allowed him to raise her chin, but cast her eyes down, unable to meet his eyes that were clearer than the sky and deeper than the sea. "Leigh." he pressed, skimming his thumb gently over her cheek, coaxing her gaze upward.

She'd been turned around. Been facing the window when he broke. She hadn't been watching him as she ranted on about her hurt and her guilt and her pain. She didn't have to speak the words for him to know. She didn't have to say is explicitly for him to feel her isolation and confusion. She'd been turned around, not facing him and so she hadn't seen it when he broke. When his face twisted and his calm demeanor crumbled. She'd missed the moment when his wall fell and he was flooded with her. With her scent and her presence and her feelings and her life. She hadn't seen his unfeeling face and empty gaze crack away as she tore at his soul. She heard it in his voice, he knew, heard his own pain. His own lack of control. His own softness that no one before her had touched. And he didn't know why. Didn't know why she'd captivated him. Didn't know why, from the moment he'd first laid eyes on her, he hadn't had the will or the power or the option of looking away. Even from the beginning he hadn't been able to part from her. He'd meant, after only a few weeks, to send her away. And now she'd been here for months, and it was worse than before. It didn't matter how she insulted him. It didn't matter what his mother said. It didn't matter how he tried, how valiant of an effort he put forth to push her away, to lock her out, no matter what he did she unknowingly burrowed her way back in. Back into his body. Into his mind. Into his soul. And she didn't even know it.

She wouldn't look at him. She hadn't seen him break. Hadn't seen him lose the battle to push her away. She hadn't seen it, and still she refused to look at him. "Leigh." he said again, and this time her eyes swept up towards his. His pulse jumped as her swimming irises locked with his, "I don't avoid you because I hate you. I don't avoid you because I want to, or because I don't like your company. I don't avoid you because I don't want to be around you." he shook his head lightly, caught between rapture and self-loathing at the look in her eyes, "It's the opposite, actually. I've been avoiding you because, more than anything, my body pushes me toward you. I avoid you because I have the insatiable need to be around you. Because I crave your presence. And that is worse than hating you. That, more than anything else, is dangerous."

She shook her head lightly and suddenly his lips were much closer to hers than she'd noticed before. She didn't know what to think or how to react. It wasn't what she'd expected. Wasn't at all what she expected. But it was comforting, because if he was speaking in truth, then she wasn't alone. If he was being honest, and she thought he was, then it didn't matter anymore. Her confusion and her hurt and her uncertainty didn't matter, because he felt it too. And that knowledge, that comfort, made the burden so much lighter. It was the strangest feeling in the world, to not be alone. To know, for the first time, that there was someone else who felt the exact same thing as her. She didn't understand, though. She didn't see how it was dangerous, this thing she felt every time he touched her. She couldn't imagine that it was anything but holy and good, but even if he was right, even if it was dangerous, it didn't matter. "I don't care." she whispered finally.

Tristan let out a shaky breath and Rory felt his hands flex on her face, felt his body, a mere inch away from hers, shudder as if he were chilled. "Don't say that." he whispered, his gaze raking heavily down to her lips. He swallowed painfully. "Don't ever say that."

"But its true." she whispered. His eyes shot back up to hers. And this time he was looking at her.

"Leigh, you don't understand...." he started, but shook his head lightly, pulling away almost painfully. He turned from her, "I can't."

Rory jumped forward, "Tristan, wait." she called, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back. She didn't pull hard, and was shocked when he swung back around as if she'd yanked him with all her might. She didn't even have time to think as, in one fluid motion, he'd turned back to her and swept his arm around her, pulling her hard against his body. She gasped, her hands flying to his chest to steady herself, but she didn't have time to think because as soon as her body was pressed intimately against his, his free hand was cupping her cheek and his lips were on hers. His body and hands were hard against her but his lips were soft. He kissed her gently, his hand supporting her head, feeling her, touching her in anyway possible, not holding her in place or forcing her into it. And his mouth was warm. It was warm and it was sure and it was against hers, breathing a heat into her that she'd never felt before, a fire she'd never heard of or expected and it spread from her lips and into her neck and her chest and throughout her entire body.

And then it was snuffed out. Rory blinked in shock as her lips were torn from Tristan's and he held her away, at arm's distance, his eyes shining with self control, "Leigh, no. We shouldn't." he spoke with difficulty, as if trying to convince himself as much as her. His fingers flexed on her skin, torn between gripping her closer and letting to altogether.

She stared up at him, breathing deeply. She didn't seem to have comprehended his words. She didn't seem to have even heard them. Her skin reverberated. Her body sang. And, as if her mind and body were completely disconnected, which seemed to happen quiet often with him, she took a step forward. Tristan opened his mouth as if to speak, but didn't have the ability, and stared at her in amazement. She rested her hands on his chest again, balancing herself as she leaned up towards him cautiously, curiously, her lips slightly parted as her short breath danced across his lips. He said her name once, quietly, uncertainly, before allowing her to lean up the last inch and connect her lips to his again.

And a heartbeat later his arm was winding back around her waist, pulling her tight against him as the other hand raised back to hold her face against his, gentler this time.

He kissed her slowly, moving his lips gently against hers until she learned how to move her mouth with his, how to form her lips and press them against his and respond to his motions. Until she felt the rhythm of his lips and fell into it with him, until she learned to respond to the heat and return it with her own. And then she felt his teeth as they scraped over her lip. He pulled her bottom lip gently between his teeth and she gasped, which only allowed him to deepen the kiss, pulling her further out into him. And the fire roared. It spread from her chest down into her stomach and the burning she'd felt for the past few weeks in the bottom of her stomach every time he touched her ignited. It caught and took and it burned and it roared and it blazed and it smoldered and she felt herself falling as his lips moved against hers and his hands pushed on her back and his body pressed against hers and they all worked together to incinerate every rational thought from her mind.

He kept his arm around her, supporting her head with his other hand and moving it gently, tilting her face up to fuse his lips against hers at an easier angle. She flexed her fingers against his chest, unsure of what to do with her hands as they fluttered uncertainly over his shoulders and skimmed along his neck. She inhaled deeply, almost a gasp, as he shifted her body in some minuscule way that pushed her more intimately against him and she felt every curve and every dip of his body with her own. She hadn't been aware that it was possible to feel the shape of something with your body rather than your hands, but she could feel it. The solid chest and hard, defined abdomen. She felt his hips pushed against her stomach and the muscles of his legs pushed against hers.

But she felt more than that. She felt the heat. And the passion. And the power that he had. She felt, through his lips and his body, the self-restraint that he'd been exercising so intensely over the past few months. She felt it, as clearly as if he'd said it, the hunger and the desire that he had. That had been building and growing for months. She felt it and it cause the strangest thing to swell up within her. The strangest satisfaction. That he wanted her. That he'd wanted her for months, had craved her _so_ desperately for weeks, perhaps even months, but had held back, had restrained himself. She'd seen it in his eyes, felt it in his touch, the hesitance, the indecisiveness. The guilt. The inability to pull her close or push her away. And it was another feeling altogether, another carnal satisfaction that he'd finally given in. Finally broken. That he hadn't been able to hold back any longer. And that, also communicated through the heat of his lips, was what screamed the loudest to her, even over the roaring fire in the pit of her stomach that made her body tingle and her legs quake. It was the fact that he'd broken. It was that loss of control. The inability to stop himself from grabbing her. It was new to him. That also, she felt confessed through his touch as clearly as if it had been through words. He'd never lost control.

It was on that note that he broke away, as if returning to reality, and pushed her back gently but kept his hands on her shoulders to steady her. Rory stood still, her breath coming out in gasps as she stared up at him, unable to react, unable to clear the fog from her mind. Tristan's face was flushed, his eyes shining. He stared into her eyes and she saw the subtle change in his gaze as he realized that she knew. That she'd read his body like a book. She'd read him in a way no one had. She'd caused reactions in him that no one ever had before.

Tristan was breathing heavily, his eyes clouded as he held her away, "And_ that_," he said hoarsely, "is why it's dangerous."

**

_A/N: Okay, okay, so I know I epically fail at updating. And I know this is a relatively short chapter for my pitiful lack of updates, but the next chapter will be up soon. This was the last hump I had to get over before the rest of the story could flow and I'd been avoiding it for forever. SO, the moral of this author's note is that the next chapter will be up soon, scout's honor :)_


	10. Chapter 10

"Wait." Marty said slowly, staring at Rory in disbelief, "Tristan....kissed.....you...." he trailed off, his hands hovering over a large pot with something steaming inside, having forgotten what he was supposed to be doing.

"Yes."

"Like, on the cheek?" he asked, his forehead scrunched. She shook her head, sighing. He nodded, "The forehead?" Again a shake. He leaned down closer, "Like a small peck?"

She glared at him, her shoulders falling, "You're not "musing."

He grinned, "I think I am. But really, Tristan kissed you? As in grabbed you and kissed you?"

Rory sighed, biting her lip as she glanced around the sparsely populated kitchen. There were only three other people, but two of them continuously glanced over at her, "Yes." she said quietly, "Could you at least keep your voice down?"

Marty laughed, half amused and half shocked, "Keep my voice down? Keep my voice down?" he shook his head lightly, "The king kisses you and you want me to keep my voice down?" Her eyes narrowed but she didn't reply. He let out a low whistle, shaking his head at her after a moment of silence, "I'll tell you, Leigh, you're in for it now. How long ago was it?"

"Three days."

His eyes widened, "What? Are you serious? and you're just now telling me?"

"Well..." she trailed off, shrugging, "I didn't know what to say."

"No? Well how about, 'hey Marty, how are you? By the way, the king kissed me today.'?"

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest, "Very funny."

He nudged her with his elbow, "So, he kissed you four days ago. And since then?"

She glanced up at him, "Since then what?"

"Since then what's happened?"

"Oh." Rory sighed, leaning against the counter, "Nothing."

His head cocked back, "Nothing?"

She shrugged, "I've barely seen him."

"Huh. Strange." Marty turned back to his work, dropping " handful of leaves into the pot to season it, "Why is that, do you think?"

Rory shook her he"d, "I don't know. I mean, I don't think he's avoiding me..." she trailed off, pressing her lips together. Her mind flashed back to the previous morning. After forcing Rory to down more of that vile pregnancy-preventing tea like she did every morning, Anna had decided that it was time for another waxing. And, like every time she had to remove her skirt in front of Anna, she'd been wracked with panic the whole time. She felt the material of her skirt rub against the Hayden crest that had been branded into her right hip as an infant. Anytime someone touched her, anytime Tristan looked at her, and anytime Anna forced her into waxing her legs, she felt as if the brand were burning, a beacon to alert Tristan to her true identity. She didn't think Anna had seen it. She'd never pulled back in shock or said anything about it. And Rory's head was still attached to her shoulders, so as far as she could tell the head maid was unaware of it.

She was snapped from her reverie when she realized that Marty was talking. She glanced up at him, her forehead scrunched, "Huh?"

He shook his head at her, amused, "I said a messenger just came from Logan. He wants to see you."

**************************************

Rory walked down the corridor leading to the kitchen the next day, holding one of the newborn Mastiff puppies in her arms to show to Marty. The litter had been born several weeks ago; some of the puppies were to be trained to guard and others to hunt. The one in her arms now was one of the males from the group with beige fur and big brown eyes. His muzzle was black and between his eyes and on his forehead it was wrinkled like most puppies had. And he had floppy ears that, whenever she spoke to him, would move as he perked up, tilting his he"d to the side as if listening to what she was telling him. He was thick, but not fat; solid and seemed to weigh too much for his little body. Its father was one of Tristan's largest hunting dogs, used to take down bears and boars, and its mother was one of the castle's guard dogs. He was small, the runt, and would be a guard dog rather than a hunter. She hugged the warm bundle of fur closer and the dog gurgled happily, rubbing its face against her chest. She continued down the empty servants' hall, surprised, when she came to realize that it was absolutely silent. It was never silent in the servants' wing. She stopped and the puppy raised its head, looking around. "Strange, hmm?" she asked it quietly and it yipped in response. She smiled before continuing down, the only sound her own footsteps, until another sound materialized from somewhere before her. She slowed down and as she got nearer the sound solidified into voices coming from around the bend in front of her.

There were two voices. One was a woman's she didn't recognize. The other was a man's she did. "Stop it."

Rory froze.

"Tristan, come on." the other voice, the woman's, was almost a purr.

"You've never said no before. What's the matter?"

"Kira, I'm serious. I'm not interested."

"Since when? Are you not feeling well? I can help with that." her voice was sultry, deep for a woman but still absolutely feminine. There was also a quality to it, something in the woman's inflection that she couldn't place, that just made Rory think of bed sheets and the moon and sweat. She sounded beautiful. and powerful. and older than Rory. and there was something in her voice, a smugness, a lilt when she spoke to Tristan that, even if she hadn't been able to hear exactly what the woman was saying to him, Rory would have known that she'd seen Tristan, touched him, tasted him in a way that she never had.

"Kira." he said her name sharply; there was a warning in his voice. One that Rory had rarely heard, but had never seen anyone ignore.

An annoyed scoff barked from the back of the woman's throat, "Is this about that girl, Tristan? Lisa? The peasant trainer?"

"Her name is Leigh." his voice was " growl, but even at that she felt her chest flutter as her name passed over his lips.

"Okay, fine, Leigh." she emphasized the name mockingly, "Is this still about her? I really don't understand, Tristan, what's this power that she has over you?"

"She doesn't have any kind of power over me." she heard his footsteps move closer to her and her pulse quickened. He was walking towards her.

The woman with him laughed and there was the sound of two dancing footfalls before Rory heard her hand slap around something, probably his wrist, and Tristan's steps stopped, "That's not what I see, Tristan." Rory bit her lip, leaning against the wall. She wanted to turn around, wanted to walk away. But she didn't think it would be possible to go without them hearing. and even if that adn't been an issue she didn't think she had the ability to turn away. She held the dog closer, shivering as a chilled breeze swept through the stone corridor.

"What are you talking about?"

"You haven't touched her, Tristan." she said it accusingly, one of the few people who didn't seem to fear the king, "I can see that. She screams of a virgin still. You haven't touched her, but since she's been here you haven't even looked at anyone else." Rory felt her eyes widen. There was a burning in her chest, obviously, because part of her didn't want to hear this conversation. She didn't want to hear from the women Tristan had slept with. Didn't want to hear them talk to him or try to get him to touch them. But even through that she couldn't stop the shock that pulsed in the back of her mind, or that strange sense of satisfaction that seemed to blossom every time she saw Tristan surrender to her or heard someone else notice it. She wasn't sure what to think completely, though, she knew that people saw how he was different around her, but she never expected that people she never noticed, like most of the servants, had picked up on it. She assumed the woman was a servant because otherwise she couldn't think of why they would be in here.

He sighed and Rory imagined that he was probably rolling his eyes, "How would you know who I have and haven't touched?"

"People talk Tristan. You haven't touched me, and no one else I've heard from has seen anything." he didn't respond. The woman sighed, but there was a smile in her voice, "I mean, really Tristan, she's been here for two months. Two months. and you haven't touched anyone." her voice dropped an octave and the even deeper tone made Rory feel violated, like she was listening to them through a closed bedroom door. She pushed down the urge to shiver or turn away, "How in the world have you managed? Have you ever gone that long without touching anyone?" The sound of her lips as they smacked away from skin hit Rory like an arrow to her brain. There was another kiss. and another. She heard a rustling of clothes and then something solid hitting the wall. It sounded like a body. "How, Tristan?" she repeated breathily. Then something else hit the floor dully, covered in cloth, knees.

"Kira." his voice wasn't as sharp as it had been before, "Get up."

"No, Tristan, if I know you then you can say no to my body, but you can't say no to this." she hard a string being pulled and the snap as a knot came undone.

"Kira." this time his voice was sharp, "Get off the floor, now." he hissed.

She gasped lightly, followed by a satisfied hum, "Tristan, you can say no all you want, but your body can't. Two months is a long time. I can _feel_ that you want it."

Rory's jaw dropped. Her voice sounded like sex. as simple as that. and there was only one way she imagined the woman on the floor in front of Tristan had intended the word feel.

"Tell me Tristan," once again her voice was a purr, a conqueror, "does your trainer know how to do–ah!" she broke off in a gasp and Rory heard Tristan grab her and haul her up.

"I swear, Kira," he hissed, "I will have you sold to Rivenlear as a slave if you don't learn your place."

It took the woman a moment to respond, and when she finally did there was a tremor in her voice, though she tried to mask it, "Once you bed her are you going to return to normal?"

There was a bitter note in his voice, "Normal, Kira? Don't speak like you actually know me. You don't know anything about me."

She laughed humorlessly, "I do know you, Tristan...."

She continued talking but Rory was gone. She turned on her heel and flew silently back down the way she'd come. She shouldn't have heard that conversation. She wondered briefly how often women in the castle tried to exchange sexual favors with Tristan in random corridors. and how often he really denied them. She couldn't think about it, though. It made her shiver to know that women that Tristan used to sleep with were discussing with him when he would conquer her. When he would get her. It wasn't even all that. It wasn't only that random whores in the castle were arguing with Tristan about whether or not he was going to sleep with her. It was that they were using it against him. That they were only waiting for him to bed her and drop her so that they could get back to their routine. But she couldn't stop herself from thinking about it because part of her knew that the thoughts weren't unfounded. Why wouldn't they think that in the end she would be in his bed? What reason had she given anyone to not believe that? What reason had she given herself? Because now, after touching him, after tasting him, after feeling him grab her and hold her and possess her and consume her, she didn't know how strong her willpower was. She didn't know that she would have been capable of telling him no. Didn't even know that the thought would cross her mind if he were touching her. Rory was running down the corridor without looking and, as seemed to happen often when she wondered into the servants' wing, she ran headlong into someone. Luckily it was Marty. He reached out to steady her as she bounced off of him, which was a plus considering her hands were full and she couldn't use her arms to balance herself.

"Leigh?" he looked down, surprised, "Are you alright?" there was genuine concern in his voice.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine." she said quietly, knowing that he could see through her lie.

"Are you sure? You look like you've seen a ghost."

She shook her head, closing her eyes, "No. No. I just...." she trailed off, lost as to how to continue, "....I brought " dog." she held up the puppy and Marty glanced at it without speaking.

They stood in silence for a moment, his forehead scrunched, "Uh, yes, Leigh, I see that. He's very sweet, but you might want to stop holding him like that before you damage him." she glanced at the puppy she held up in her right hand. She was holding him under his stomach and up, his legs were on either side of her hand, splayed awkwardly and he looked up at her expressionlessly from hooded eyelids as if silently asking her if she'd lost her mind.

"Oh." she said quietly, pulling him back to her chest, "Sorry puppy."

Marty tilted his head, looking down at her, "You sure you're okay?" he asked again. She nodded. "Alright. Well walk with me, I have to get to the kitchen. So you brought one of the new puppies?"

She nodded, following as he turned her around the way she'd just run from and started leading her back down the corridor. She made small talk with him, her body tensing as each step they took brought her closer to Tristan and Kira. She didn't want to walk in on them. Didn't want to see Tristan's face or find out was his former lover looked like. She didn't want to feel the gaping inadequacy she knew would result from seeing the gorgeous woman who had been throwing herself at Tristan. But she couldn't tell Marty about what she'd heard, and so she just followed silently, laying gentle kisses on the puppy's forehead as Marty spoke to her and led her deeper and deeper into the center of the earth. Slowly, as before, the voices came, angrier this time than before. The woman was screaming something about punishing himself for his own conquests and he was yelling something about having her sold to a brothel.

But Marty didn't hesitate as she had. He just shot her a look she couldn't decipher and turned the corner that she'd hid behind. The voices cut off immediately. Rory came around only a second after Marty. Tristan looked at them with an unreadable expression. He was surprised, obviously, but not to the point that Rory would say he looked shocked. He barely glanced at Marty, however; his eyes were on her. and she felt a burning deep within her stomach as she felt him staring. She couldn't tell from the look on his face whether he wondered how much she heard or if he even cared. She couldn't tell if he was glad she'd heard whatever she did or wished she hadn't been on this side of the castle.

Kira looked at Rory and Marty, wide eyed and caught off guard. She glanced between them, but mainly at Rory. She was annoyed, that much was obvious, as after a moment her face twisted slightly. Rory's presence seemed to displease her. She'd been right in her prediction, however. The woman was beautiful. She looked to be around Tristan's age, maybe a year or two older. She was probably the same height as Rory, but more voluptuous. She had smooth, shapely hips, large breasts, and full lips. Her skin was lightly tanned from spending time outside and her features were delicate in a way that allured men. She had large brown eyes and a small curved nose. Her cheekbones were high and her face shaped like a heart. Her hair was lighter than Rory's, a golden brown, and it cascaded halfway down her back in big loping curls.

Marty looked between the two uncertainly, "Did we uh, interrupt something?" he asked awkwardly.

Rory thought it was an unnecessary question, what with Tristan's thinly veiled anger and her heaving chest and flushed cheeks, obviously the products of arguing. But she supposed there was really nothing else he could have asked.

"No." Tristan answered without taking his eyes off of Rory, "Kira was just leaving, actually." Her head snapped around to look at him, her mouth opened in disbelief. But at the look he shot her she said nothing, just shoved past Rory without anything but a parting glare in the girl's direction. He opened his mouth, but closed it before shaking his head lightly, "I see you brought one of Cecilia's puppies." she nodded, holding him up, this time with both hands, to show Tristan,

"Yes." she started, "Cecilia? That's the mother's name?" Tristan laughed, nodding, "Yes."

"But..." Rory trailed off, confused. That was the queen mother's name.

He grinned, understanding her confusion, "When I was fourteen we killed a wild sow boar on a hunt, but it had a piglet with it. We kept the piglet and I named it Cecilia, but after a few weeks it died. One of the guard dogs had just had a litter so I named one of the puppies Cecilia instead, because it drove my mother mad." he nodded towards the puppy in her hands, "that one's mother. I was just lucky it was a Mastiff. If it had been a greyhound or an alaunt I don't think she would have been quite so offended."

Rory, despite herself, laughed, "You're such a sweet son."

He still smiled, shaking his head, "I'm sure she would agree, but I actually have to get back to talk to Logan about something." he nodded towards the dog in her hands, "He's small." she nodded, "Yes, he was the runt." Tristan's expression shifted lightly and, if anything, became more ambiguous, "Well, Mary, you keep that one." he stepped closer to her, gripping the tops of her arms gently to pull her closer, "Mastiffs make wonderful guard dogs and I think you're going to need one." he leaned down and kissed her forehead lightly. "I'll see you later today." he ruffled the dog's ears playfully and nodded towards Marty in farewell. He turned to head down the corridor.

"Tristan." she said quietly before he'd taken a step away. He turned back towards her. She hitched the dog up, "Thank you." she whispered. She wasn't sure, exactly, what the thanks was for. For the dog. For turning Kira away. For not letting Kira talk about her. For treating her differently than he did anyone else.

He watched her for a moment, his gaze calculating as if he too knew that she wasn't sure what she was thanking him for. and he knew all the things she was trying to decide between. after a moment his face cleared and his expression softened. He raised his hand to cup her cheek and tilt her head up towards his. He leaned down, laying the gentlest of kisses on her lips. Her heart and eyelids both fluttered, but only for a moment because then his lips were off of hers, "You're welcome." he whispered back, his lips just far enough away that they weren't touching hers. She bit her lip and he traced his thumb down her jawline once before pulling back and turning down the corridor.

Rory sighed, sagging back. Marty cleared his throat and she jumped lightly, having forgotten he was there. "Well that was sweet."

She narrowed her eyes in mock annoyance, "I hate you."

He grinned, shaking his head lightly, "You always say that. I don't think you really mean it." She didn't respond, just glared some more, and he laughed, throwing his arm around her shoulders and continuing back towards the kitchen, "It is true, though. He did act differently than I've ever seen." Rory continued to ignore his comments, but looked down to the puppy in her arms, bouncing him lightly. as they continued down the empty corridor in silence Rory sensed Marty's attitude shift, his amusement melting. She didn't speak though; the only sounds besides their footsteps were the cracking of the torches that illuminated the stone walkway and the occasional echoing drip of some hidden leak. She felt his hesitance, his desire to say more but the inability to think of how to say it. She raised her hand to scratch the dog behind the ears, kissing its forehead lightly; its leg jumped against her stomach and it stretched its neck forward, closing its eyes and whining softly. after another stretch of silence Marty spoke quietly, as if uncertain whether he should, "He must like you something fierce, though." Over the past few weeks she'd developed the ability to stop reacting with shock whenever someone said something about Tristan liking her or wanting her or lusting after her, and remarkably her face stayed blank.

Despite the fact that the mention of such things still caused her heart rate to accelerate.

She didn't look at him for fear that her eyes would give her away as she spoke, "Why do you say that?"

She felt him shake his head, dropping his arm from around her shoulders, "Turning down Kira...." he trailed off, "I don't know that I've ever seen anyone do that. Let alone Tristan."

At that Rory couldn't hold her facade of indifference and she turned her head sharply, "What do you mean?"

He glanced down at her, unsurprised by her violent reaction. His forehead screwed up in concentration as he looked back "head of them, "Kira.. She is..." he trailed off, searching for a word, "....persuasive. I guess you could say. She's been a laundry maid here for three years and I don't remember a time when she wasn't after Tristan."

Rory felt a reaction in her body. A heat deep in her chest and her stomach, but didn't know what to call it or what to think of it. "Three years?" she asked, shocked.

Marty winced, "Yes." Rory opened her mouth, unsure of what to say. Marty bit his lip then carefully cleared his face, guarding his expression. She got the distinct impression that he regretted telling her, "She isn't exactly discreet about it. I've never heard him say anything about it, though. She likes to talk." He fell silent awkwardly, his expression still guarded but unable to mask his discomfort.

Rory didn't look at him, just stared forward. She didn't know what to think. Three years. Tristan had never struck her as the kind to keep coming back. Especially for years. "So..." she trailed off, her mind screaming and clouded and racing all at the same time. But she couldn't form a distinct thought. It was just full of colors and sounds and feelings she couldn't decipher. "...so then, he cares about her?" she asked quietly. That was the only thing she could think of.

Marty started next to her, surprised. There was shock in his voice, "What? Care about her?" he almost laughed, "No. Definitely not."

Rory looked up at him, "Three years? How can he not care about her? Why would he keep going back?"

The look Marty gave her then made her want to punch it off his face. Like she was naive and adorable and childish, "Leigh, she's been a laundry maid for three years, and I've never seen her wash an article of clothing."

She shook her head, "So what, he keeps her employed for sex?"

"No." he was amused again. Not overtly, but a little, and it was in a way that didn't make her feel like an idiot, "Honestly I don't think he even knows that she doesn't do anything. At first I think she worked but the more she was with him, the more she started to feel like she didn't have to work. Now she walks around like she controls the castle and no one cares or wants to deal with her so much that they'll waste the energy to tell her otherwise and have to deal with her ego." he laughed lightly, "She seems to think she has some power over him, but I'm guessing after that little episode she's finally realized that isn't the case."

Rory pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully, slowing their pace until they were barely walking. "But she cares about him?"

Marty didn't answer at first, just sighed thoughtfully. "No." he answered after a moment, "I don't think so."

"So she just lets him use her like that? Begs him for it?" she shook her head, "I don't think so. Women aren't the same as men."

Marty shrugged, "She likes sex. And she likes it with Tristan more than anyone else."

"Because she cares about him."

"No, Leigh. I think it could be " thousand things. But I don't think it's because she cares about him. His body, maybe, and the things it does to her. But not because she genuinely cares for him. It's something else."

She exhaled quietly, blinking slowly, "Because he's the king?"

He shook his he"d lightly, "No, I thought that before, but not anymore. Now I think it's just because she likes sex, and he's very good at it."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That night Rory walked bouncingly down the well trodden dirt path towards one of the wooded arenas that the men practiced in. The singing of the crickets and rustling of the leaves melted gradually into the sounds of clashing metal and laughing shouts. She he"rd them and before she saw them. after only a few moments she came into view of the arena; it was a large circular clearing in the woods, the grass worn down until it was nearly nonexistent and then covered with sand. A ring of logs formed the perimeter of it and doubled as a boundary and benches for those watching a fight. The arena was illuminated in the night by dancing torches placed periodically along the ring of it, several feet from the surrounding trees.

Dorian and Callum were in the middle of it, dueling playfully, laughing and jumping around more than actually fighting. Nick was sitting against one of the logs, halfway watching the fight and halfway talking to the three girls that had evidently come with them. Rory didn't recognize any of the girls, but they had the look of maids.

Dorian and Callum were mock dueling, throwing more insults than hits and continually looking over at the girls and blowing kisses or winking. The girls would laugh and respond, appropriately acting offended but the effect was diminished by their giggling and fluttering eyelashes.

Rory exited the path and came into the light cast by the torches, laughing at the two cousins before her. They twisted towards her as they heard her enter. "Leigh!" Dorian called to her, holding his sword up in greeting, "Long time, no see. I thought you must be dead."

She smiled, shaking her head, "Nope. Still living at the moment."

He nodded, dropping his arm, "Always better than the alternative."

She nodded back, arching her eyebrows. As she looked at them Callum's amused expression shifted to one of shock and horror, "Leigh!" he screamed.

Rory's eyes widened, "What?" her body tensed and she froze, expecting a bear to maul her from behind after his expression.

He continued to stare at her, "Your legs! They're.....they're....." he motioned to the lower part of her body, "They've disappeared."

The tension leaked from her body and she rolled her eyes, "You are so obnoxious." and she continued on towards them.

They came closer to her as well and each started circling her in a different direction, looking at her skirt. after a moment Dorian poked her leg, then picked lightly at her skirt, pulling at it before letting it drop from his hand. "Oh, no Callum. They're still here. They're just both in these single-legged trousers she's wearing." he stood up straight and looked at her from top to bottom. He picked up a strand of her hair, "and look, this has sprouted from her head."

"It's true." Callum stood in front of her, crossing his arms over his chest and tossing his head in an effort to get his dusty blonde hair out of his eyes, "Leigh, I've never seen you look like such a girl."

Rory slapped Dorian's hand away, "Could you control yourselves, really? Even in a skirt I could put you on the ground in about three seconds, so watch your tongue." Callum grinned wickedly, opening his mouth, but she cut him off, "Don't even think about saying it." He closed it, smirking lightly. She turned towards the four people sitting on the benches, "Hey Nick."

He nodded, "How are you Leigh?"

She nodded in answer, glancing at the three girls with him. They were staring at her wide eyed. One was leaning over whispering something into the ear of another. They didn't even attempt to hide the fact that they were talking about her. She fought the urge to blush and look away; instead she caught the eye of one and the girl just stared, her gaze calculating. It took her a moment to realize that Callum and Dorian were no longer talking, and it was the silence that resulted and caused an awkward tension that alerted her to the three men staring at her and the other girls present, uncertain of what to do. She blinked slowly, turning to the cousins before speaking playfully, "You should be resting for tomorrow, not showing off for women."

Callum jumped at the opportunity to break the tension, "Ha! Leigh, it's like you don't know us at all. We don't require rest. We function off of a never-ending supply of energy."

She grinned, rolling her eyes, "Yes, I'm sure you'll be laughing in about a week when you faint from exhaustion and starvation." Early the next morning she, Logan, and the current guard were taking the new men to the border between Hartford and Gildren, the country to the north. It was a test for them, they would be put into groups of four or five and given enough rations for four days. It took seven to get back to the city on foot. They would have to find their way back using the sky and with the swords and bows they took with them, catching their food and fighting ambushes set up by the current guards. She and Logan wouldn't be ambushing; they were coming straight back.

His eyebrow arched and he slid closer, "Oh?"

She nodded, arching her eyebrow at him as well, "Mhmm."

Dorian threw his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to his side, "Do tell us, love, if you think we'll die."

She laughed, "No, Dorian, I don't think you'll die."

His arm darted from her shoulders to lock around her waist, swinging her around to stand in front of him, "Yes, but-"

One of the girls sitting with Nick cut him off, "Callum, Dorian, we probably need to get back." the two cousins glanced over at them.

Callum smiled charmingly, leaning towards them, "So soon?" the one who had spoken smiled coyly at him, her eyelashes fluttering,

"Unfortunately." her voice was annoying.

"Ah, well." he walked slowly over towards her, holding out his hand to help her up. Nick aided the other two. "Oh!" Callum shook his head, "Please, excuse our atrocious manners." He motioned towards Rory, "Ladies, this is Leigh, she was one of us but her fragile constitution required that she be removed from service and now she works as one of our trainers-"

"Callum." she cut him off.

He turned towards her innocently, "Yes, love?"

"You are aware that at this distance I can hit you with my shoe hard enough to knock you unconscious?"

He grinned wickedly, turning back to the girls, "I'm sorry, she was so amazingly wonderful that the king couldn't stand the thought of having her in combat and losing her skill with " sword-" one of the girls, the one who had caught Rory's eye and been helped up by Callum, snickered behind her hand, "-and so," Callum continued, not picking up on the girl's amusement, "he made her a trainer." He looked up at Rory, motioning to the girls next to him, "Leigh, these are Megan, Cathy, and Lauren." Cathy was the one who seemed to like Callum, and not Rory.

She smiled politely anyway, nodding to them in greeting, "Hello."

One of the girls, Megan, who looked the youngest, smiled back, "You're more beautiful than I thought you would be."

Rory tilted her head, puzzled, "What?" She was uncertain whether she should be offended or take is as a compliment.

"You're beautiful." she shrugged, "When you think of a woman soldier you don't think of them being beautiful. I guess I should have known though, considering..." she trailed off.

Rory tilted her head forward, shaking it lightly, "Considering.....what?"

The girl opened her mouth uncertainly, shrugging her delicate shoulders again, "Well, the king, of course."

Rory stared at her for a moment, exhaling quietly, "What about him?"

"Well..." she trailed off, pressing her lips together nervously, "well he's with you constantly. Everyone says that...." she broke off again, biting her bottom lip at the menacing look on Rory's face. At least that was what Rory assumed she was frightened of.

Dorian, whose arm was still around Rory, rubbed her side gently, "Down, girl." he breathed into her ear. Rory's head snapped around and she stared at him for a moment before she felt her face relax on its own. Really, she was getting far too sensitive about Tristan.

She looked back to the girl, her expression now clear, "I know what everyone says, and it isn't true." The girl opened her mouth, eyes still wide with fear as if she thought Rory might fly across the ring and rip the life from her bones. She nodded frantically, unable to speak.

The three girls left then, the one leaving Callum with a scandalous good-bye kiss. Rory sighed, pressing her lips together. The three boys stared at her as if she'd sprouted another head, but waited for the maids to be out of hearing distance before they beg"n their inquisition. Rory glanced around at the burning torches, refusing to meet their gazes. A thick silence saturated with shock pushed in on them. It was Callum who spoke first, now standing next to her, "Well. I wasn't aware that the mere mention of the king would turn you into a murderous lion."

She snapped around to look at him, eyes narrowed, "What?"

His eyebrow arched and he grinned lightly, unfrightened of her like the girls had been, "But, judging by your reaction there is absolutely something to what everyone says."

Rory shook her head, folding her arms over her chest, "I don't know what you're talking about."

He laughed lightly, leaning closer to her, "You, darling, just had the look of someone possessed by the devil. at the mention of the king."

She rolled her eyes, placing her hands on her hips, "I just don't like loose maids." It was Nick who laughed out loud at that. Rory twisted to shoot him a glare, "What is so funny?"

He grinned at her, laughter still dancing across his face, "Leigh, I think Megan would turn to dust if she were ever kissed. She nearly cried when Dorian put his arm around her earlier today."

"Hey!" the younger of the cousins shot Nick a glare.

Nick and Callum both laughed again, "Really, Leigh, she is the farthest thing from loose that you could find."

"Exactly." Callum twisted her around to face him, "Besides, you were fine until she brought up the king."

Rory shrugged away from him, "People keep insinuating things, that's all. I'm tired of it." she crossed her arms, ignoring the silence that followed her comment.

Nick, who knew her better than the other two, leaned back on his heels, grinning at Callum conspiratorially, "I think there's something our little Leigh isn't telling us."

"Most definitely." Callum agreed, before turning towards his cousin,

"Wouldn't you agree, Dorian?"

The youngest of the three nodded, sliding closer to Rory, "Absolutely. In fact, I've heard a few rumors flying around, myself."

Rory's eyebrow arched, "Oh?"

He nodded, grinning at her, "Oh indeed."

"And what would those be?"

Dorian shrugged, sighing, "Oh, you know. Just that the king is in love with you. Bedding you. That he begged you to marry him but you refused." he began ticking off on his fingers, "I also heard that you asked him to forsake his crown and run away with you. That you were carrying his illegitimate child. That you told the queen mother that the two of you were in love and she couldn't do anything about it. That you convinced him to reject a marriage proposal from Rivenlear...." he trailed off, thinking. His forehead was creased as he stared at the ground, "Hmm. That's odd. I know there was another one....and it was good, too." he looked up to see that all three of them were staring at him as if he'd lost his mind. His head cocked back, "What?"

Rory erupted into laughter and Nick shook his head, laughing as well. But Callum just shook his head, "For the love of all that is holy, Dorian, do you spend all your time listening to the gossip-mongering old women in the servants' corridors, or do you ever do anything useful?"

Dorian rolled his eyes, "I don't believe you complained when I brought Cathy from the servants' corridor, now did you?"

"Mmm." Callum's expression changed and he grinned, crossing his arms over his chest thoughtfully, "No, that's true. On second thought, spend all the time you want entertaining the old bats. So long as you bring me those gorgeous young specimens." Rory rolled her eyes, scoffing, and Callum turned to her, smiling, "Now, now, Leigh. Don't be jealous. You know that although I may stray, my heart only belongs to you." he tilted his head, looking her over, "Especially now that you've turned into a woman on me. And a positively delicious one at that."

"Callum!" she screeched, hitting him in the chest hard enough that he staggered back a step, laughing.

"Oh Leigh," he grabbed her, swinging her around playfully, "you may be able to destroy me with a sword, but you forget I'm still bigger than you." she just laughed at him and rolled her eyes. She always forgot, after several days away from them, how much she missed spending time with the first three boys she'd met while she was here. And how very much she loved them.

Later that night Rory found herself still with them, lying on the sand of the practice arena and staring at patches of stars through the trees above. It had been just past dusk when she'd arrived to find them entertaining three maids, and now the moon was sharp and clear over their heads. after rounds and rounds of laughter and lighthearted banter they'd lapsed into silence, all laying on their backs and listening to the autumn breeze rustling through the forest around them. She was wrapped in a blanket that one of the maids had left. They laid with their heads close together so that they could converse easily, Callum was laying next to her.

She shivered against the breeze and he turned his head, "Cold?"

She shook her head lightly, "I'm fine."

"You sure?" he asked, laying his head back down to stare at the sky.

"Mhmm." she answered, relaxing into the blanket, "Really, though. You three do need your rest. You won't get much for the next week and a half."

"We are resting." Nick answered, "see? No moving. Not much talking. No thinking, really." Rory laughed and he continued, "We're practically asleep."

She opened her mouth, grinning, to respond, but didn't get the chance to as they heard footsteps on the path leading to the arena. They all stilled, listening. It wasn't realistic to say that there was danger headed for them, and even if the people on the path did intend them harm, it was unlikely that any would befall them considering the four of them, together especially, could probably take any combination of people who came at them. It was a reaction, though, to tense.

Rory and Nick sat up and the cousins followed suit, looking towards the path to see the light of a torch headed towards them. Two male voices could be heard talking lightly, laughing. Seemingly unaware that they were headed towards anyone at all. All four of them relaxed. "That's probably Logan," Dorian explained, "I think he comes around at night to make sure all of the torches are out so as not to burn down the forest."

Rory laughed lightly, "Good thinking."

He nodded, laying back down. The others stayed sitting, though. Rory pulled her knees to her chest and curled her arms around them, waiting for Logan and whoever else was with him to emerge. She didn't have to wait long. after only a moment he became visible and they saw who else was with him. Tristan plodded down the path with his cousin, his face light and his pace easy. She looked up at him before he noticed her, taking a second to glance over his messy, sun-lightened hair and strong jaw line, the defined bone structure of his face. His eyes almost glowed as they reflected the light of the torch Logan was carrying. His skin, like his hair, was colored by the sun; still a bronze tan despite the growing cold of the season. She wondered briefly if he usually came down here with Logan to extinguish the torches.

Once Logan and Tristan were in sight of the arena they looked up and saw the three guards-in-training and Rory sitting. Logan tilted the torch up as a greeting, "Ho Nick, Callum. Dorian." the other three, upon catching sight of Tristan, stood rapidly and bowed to one knee.

He waved his hand lightly, finding the formal greeting unnecessary in their current setting, "At ease." They looked up and stood, greeting the king politely.

Tristan and Logan came closer to them. It was Logan who spoke, "You four are up awfully late."

Nick nodded, "We were out here earlier practicing, then Leigh came and we lost track of time."

Logan looked down at her, tsk-ing playfully, "Distracting your charges, Leigh?"

She shook her head understandingly, playing along, "I told them hours ago to go to bed. They never listen. It's terrible, really. Blatant insubordination."

Logan glanced at the three men before him, his eyebrow raised in question. Tristan crossed his arms, leaning back on his heels as he glanced between Rory and Logan, amused. Dorian, Nick, and Callum looked between their friend and the king's cousin, uncertain of how to take the banter they weren't used to seeing. Callum raised his hand and kept it in the air. He opened his mouth for a moment before he spoke, motioning to Rory, "Is she really ranked? I mean, does it actually count as insubordination?" No one answered.

She stared up at him, her face scrunched, "You know, Callum, sometimes when you talk, I wonder why you even speak."

Nick and Dorian laughed, stepping back and laughing harder at the pretended hurt on Callum's face. Logan smirked, "You know, Danes, I wonder the same thing."

Rory laughed and in the process looked over at Tristan unintentionally. He caught her eye and held it, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was light, not quite as amused as the rest of them because he wasn't as involved with Nick and the cousins as Rory and Logan were. He wasn't staring at her, exactly, but watching her briefly. The look in his gaze made her body heat up. She bit her lip, breaking eye contact, but she could still feel him looking at her. She felt his eyes on her body and it made her tingle strangely, but not unpleasantly.

The six of them conversed briefly before Logan looked up at the sky, "We have to leave early in the morning. You three might really want to get to sleep."

At the mention of it Nick yawned, nodding, "Yes, true." he turned back to his childhood friend, "Goodnight Leigh."

She smiled, "Sleep well, Nick."

"Do you want to come back with us?" he asked.

Rory opened her mouth hesitantly and glanced up at the two blondes before her, uncertain of whether by staying she would be intruding. It took only a split second to interpret the guarded look on Tristan's face, "No, I'm fine." she smiled up at him, "I'll go back with Logan and Tristan." He glanced at the two men in question uncertainly before smiling at her and nodding. Dorian and Callum bid her goodnight as well and nodded to the king and his cousin before heading back up the path.

Logan leaned back, stretching and groaning lightly, "Tomorrow's going to be a long day." he said quietly.

Rory nodded, running a hand through her hair to push it back from her face. "And the next."

"And the next." Logan added.

"And the next." she finished, sighing. They would be taking the men to the edge of Hartford's territory, it was a two day ride by horse each way.

He glanced down at her and nodded, yawning as well, "Very long."

Rory pulled the blanket tighter around herself, surprisingly not tired despite all the yawning around her. She glanced up at Tristan, who appeared wide awake as well. When he looked over and saw her eyes on him he smiled gently, holding a hand out to her. She took it, her skin warming on contact with his rough, tanned fingers, and he pulled her up, wrapping his other arm around her waist to steady her. "Thank you." she whispered.

"You're welcome." she was steady, but his hand didn't move from her back. Instead she found herself closer to him than would have been absolutely necessary for simply pulling her up from the ground. She wasn't complaining though.

Logan said nothing and Rory had the distinct impression that he was staring. Or else going through pains to look away from them. He started to make a humming noise in the back of his throat, "I have to put out these torches...." he trailed off, looking over at Tristan with a smiled that asked a favor all in itself.

Tristan rolled his eyes lightly, not really annoyed, "I'll put the torches out for you."

Logan grinned, "Lovely sir, really."

"Yeah yeah."

He stepped closer to them, "Well, I'm off. I have to wake up early in the morning. Leigh, you can sleep in the carriage tomorrow so take your time." She narrowed her eyes and he laughed, stepping back, "Hey, hey. Maybe I meant walking back." he motioned behind him, "That path can be treacherous. It would be so unfortunate if you fell and twisted something."

Her eyebrow arched, "Logan."

"Hmm?"

"That path doesn't even have grass, it's so worn down. There is nothing on it that's going to knock me over."

He grinned, clucking his tongue, "You never know." he took a step back, "But, I need to get to sleep. So Leigh, I will see you in the morning." he turned to his cousin, saluting, "Tris, maybe tomorrow, maybe in four days, who knows?"

Tristan nodded to him, "Don't hurt yourself on the way back."

Logan's head fell back and he laughed, turning from them and heading back up the path. They still heard him laughing until the light of his torch was almost swallowed by the trees. A silence fell between them. It wasn't uncomfortable, though. Rory pulled her blanket tighter around her, resting her forehead on Tristan's shoulder. She felt him shift minutely in surprise but he wrapped his arms around her, rubbing his hands on her back, "Are you cold?" he asked.

She relaxed into him, shaking her head against his shoulder. He kept his arms around her anyway, turning his face into her hair. He inhaled deeply, but silently, breathing her in. She smelled like jasmine and lavender. The skin of her cheek was soft as the edge of his jaw brushed against it and the feel of her pressed against him, despite the fact that there were several layers separating them, made his body warm.

"So you're going with them in the morning?" he asked.

She nodded against him again, eyes closed as she spoke, "Yes. I'm not staying behind to test them, though. Neither is Logan. The guard is going to do all that."

He nodded, laying a kiss on the crown of her head, "How do you like your dog?"

Rory grinned, pulling back to look at him, "He's cute."

Tristan laughed out loud, "Is he?"

She nodded, "Mhmm. I like him very much, thank you."

The king nodded, his eyebrow arching, and she couldn't decide if he was mocking her of just amused, "Have you named him yet?"

"Duke."

The corner of his lip twitched in amusement, "Duke?"

She nodded, "Duke."

Tristan nodded thoughtfully, "Duke."

Rory nudged his chest gently, laughing, "Stop."

His mouth turned up at the corners, unable to push down his amusement, "What?"

"You're mocking me." she couldn't keep the laughter out of her voice.

His face twisted into insincere shock, "What? Mocking you? I would never."

She rolled her eyes, stepping out of his arms, "Yes you would."

"No, I'd be far too nervous to mock you. You might pull a sword from your bodice and run me through."

Her eyebrows arched and she opened her arms, holding the blanket away from her body. She glanced down, "You think I could hide one in here?" she asked thoughtfully.

There was no reply.

Rory looked up in the silence to see that Tristan was watching her. His expression was unreadable. He was staring at her, not in the hungry way she'd expected, but thoughtfully, as if he were trying to read her body. She pressed her lips together, letting her arms drop. His eyes shifted up to her face, "You have a scar." he said quietly.

Rory blinked in surprise, taken aback. She glanced down at her chest. Over the flat part, just under her collar bone, was a faint line that she'd accidentally inflicted on herself six years ago when she dropped one of Luke's knives. It hadn't been a terribly bad cut and had healed well, but there was a thin milky scar to remind her of it. "I can't believe you noticed that." she said quietly, turning her face towards him, "It's barely noticeable during the day, let alone at night."

Tristan came closer to her, his eyes locked on the scar, raising his hand. She stared at him, unable to move as he brushed the back of his fingers down the three-inch line. His eyes narrowed in concentration, "How did you get it?"

She wanted to look at his hand but lacked the physical ability to break her eyes away from his face, "I was putting my father's knives on a high shelf and one slipped. I was twelve."

His gaze snapped up to her face and she inhaled sharply, struck by his closeness and the brightness of his eyes. His skin against hers. "and all you got was this? You were lucky."

She nodded slowly, biting her lip, "Yes, I was." She fell silent and he seemed to feel no need to fill it. They stood without speaking, gazes locked as the back of Tristan's fingers rested against her collarbone. After a heavy moment Rory spoke, "You're not used to this, are you?"

"To what?"

"Having to wait." Tristan shook his head lightly, sliding his hand from her chest,

"What?"

"Having to wait for someone you want. You aren't used to it, are you?" She asked quietly.

His head tilted fractionally and he leaned away from her, crossing his arms over his chest, "Having to wait for someone that I want? What do you mean by that?"

Rory sighed, cursing herself mentally for breaking the moment, "Well, you're used to getting what you want, when you want it, from women. It's new for you to have to wait."

"Ah." he tilted his head towards her, "and what is it, exactly, that you think I want out of you?" She stared at him for a moment before opening her mouth. But she couldn't bring herself to say it and so she glanced down, blushing. She felt him move closer to her, dry amusement radiated from him, "Leigh." he said quietly, not quite a whisper, but into her ear, "If what wanted was for you to go to bed with me, it would have happened by now."

Her head snapped up, surprised, "Excuse me?"

Tristan grinned at the indignance that crackled behind her eyes, "I said, if my goal was to make you want to go to bed with me, it would have happened already."

Rory snorted, not sure of how she should feel but thought if best to act offended, "You know Tristan, I think that you have too much confidence in your abilities." she pulled the blanket from around her shoulders and let it drop to the ground.

He smirked, leering towards her, "Do you? I disagree."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head, stepping around him towards the path that led back to the castle, "Yes, I do."

She had only walked a few paces when she felt his fingers wrap around her arm, swinging her back towards him, "You honestly don't believe that I could make you want to go to bed with me?" The leering and mocking were gone, replaced with amusement and something she'd rarely seen in him. There was a challenge shimmering in his gaze.

She stared back and answered with more confidence than she felt, "No."

He walked towards her, "No?" he questioned quietly.

Rory shook her head, backing up, "No." her back hit a tree.

Tristan grinned, coming to a stop in front of her. He raised his hands and she felt her stomach flutter. But he didn't touch her. His palms came to rest on the rough bark of the tree on either side of her head. He leaned down, his lips a breath away from hers, and she gasped inaudibly, her breathing speeding up. The corner of Tristan's lip curled as he registered her reaction. "No?" he breathed again.

There was something about his lips. Something so mesmerizing. She'd never noticed it before. They were soft. and full. They were smooth and perfectly shaped, when he spoke or smiled they revealed flashes of perfectly straight white teeth. His lips were smooth and warm and so close to hers she could almost feel them moving. She couldn't look away from them. She was hypersensitive to his body positioned so closely to hers. The smell of his hair and his skin, like the breeze and waterfalls and sweat and the sun. The feel of his skin that was almost touching hers, like music and bed sheets and heat.

She blinked slowly, aware that he'd repeated his challenge. Her gaze slowly rose to lock with his. He was staring at her, still amused, but there was something else. Something deeper that she couldn't name, "No."

Tristan's laugh was so light she almost didn't hear it before he'd leaned down the last inch and captured her lips in his. She didn't bother resisting, knowing that it would be useless to try to convince her body to pull away. Instead she inhaled deeply, wrapping her arms around his neck in reaction. His hands came off of the trunk behind her; one wound around her back and the other came to hold the side of her face, tilting her head up towards him as he pushed her back against the tree with his body. Rory shivered, her body reacting as he pushed his deliciously against hers. The bark of the tree was rough against her back but she barely felt it as every particle of her was consumed in Tristan's lips and his body and his hands.

She felt his tongue against her lip, felt him pull her bottom lip between his teeth and release it slowly, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin. It tickled strangely and stirred a heat deep in the pit of her stomach. Her closed eyelids fluttered and she raised up on her tip toes, kissing him harder. She felt him grin against her lips and tilt her head back more before his tongue swept over her lips. She opened her mouth instinctively, not even realizing what she was doing until she felt his chest shudder against hers. and then she felt his lip in her mouth, felt her teeth running over the gentle swell of his bottom lip. She wasn't sure what to do; her mind seemed to be frozen but her body was, shockingly, carrying on as if it knew perfectly well what it was supposed to be doing and didn't need her mind at all. She felt the tree pushed hard against her back but her neck moved; her head pull back lightly, taking Tristan's lip with it, and he followed her, leaning down eagerly to keep his lips connected to hers. Tristan's body was hard against hers and she felt the shock ripple all through him at her provocative emulation of what he'd done earlier. A wicked, carnal grin slinked it's way onto her lips as a groan bubbled from the back of Tristan's throat and he shifted forward, the shock fading from him as he pushed her harder into the tree trunk, his body pressed so closely against hers that she felt every inch of him. The pressure of his hands increased on her back and her face and pulled her lips towards his roughly, unable to stand her teasing any longer.

She felt herself melt against him as his hands slid down her body, his lips hard and fervent against her own. His hand broke from her face to move down her body, gliding over her shoulder and down her side, the pressure never letting up or lessening. She felt his fingers rake over her hip and slide down her thighs until his hands came to just above her knees. She didn't think as he clutched her skirt in his hands, pulling it back up her leg. Fire scorched its way up her body as he touched her in places no one else ever had. She'd never thought much of how the back of her upper leg could bring a tingling, rushing sensation throughout her whole body, but it could. She couldn't think straight, couldn't think at all. She didn't even have the ability to protest as he pulled up her skirt. His hands were still pushing against her legs, the pressure forcing her to remember who he was and what he was capable of. His hands came back up her legs, sections of her skirt riding up with them, until he came to the top of her thighs. She barely had time to think as, in one swift motion, he'd grasped the back of her thighs and lifted her off the ground. She gasped loudly, tightening her grip on his neck and wrapping her legs around his waist in reaction.

Tristan pushed her back against the tree again to help support her. She could feel his rough, warm hands through the cloth of her skirt and somewhere in the back of her mind she realized that he'd only pulled it up so that she could get her legs around him.

Nearly all conscious thought was suspended. She felt the tree at her back, Tristan's hands on her thighs, his lips moving roughly against hers, his body pushed intimately against hers so that she felt everything. But no thought. She didn't spare a moment to consider that fact that she was wrapped around a man with her skirt pulled up nearly to her knees, his hands grasping her legs in dangerous proximity and his lips fused to hers in a most carnal and wicked fashion. She didn't think about the fact that the king had her, alone, at night, pushed against a tree with his hips positioned intimately against hers, separated by only a few thin layers of cotton and wool. And she felt everything that she shouldn't have been able to until marriage. His lips were hard and demanding against hers, forcing her mouth open, deepening the kiss if it were possible.

Time seemed to have disappeared to the same place her thoughts went, because she didn't have any idea how long he'd had her hitched around his waist, his lips rough against hers. and when she pulled away to gasp, her lips swollen and her cheeks flushed, Tristan didn't miss a beat, but slid his tongue tantalizingly down her exposed throat. She heard a sound escape from her throat, but it was guttural and unintelligible. A sound she'd never made before. She felt him grin against the pulse at the base of her neck before his teeth scraped across her skin, sucking it gently. She let out a small cry, half wanton and half shock. She was surprised by the small thrum of pain that streaked from the bite, but it wasn't a bad pain. Tristan traced slow, full kisses over the bite, his lips soothing her skin. His mouth didn't stay there, though. It trailed over her shoulder, nudging the sleeve of her dress aside so that he could reach the rarely-exposed skin. It happened again and again, or things similar to it. More than once she had to break her lips from his to increase the flow of oxygen to her lungs, but his mouth never moved from her skin.

She had no idea of the passage of time or what was happening in the world around them until she was pulled from her stupor of lasciviousness when Tristan's body broke away from hers. She let out a small whimper of protest as her legs fell from around his waist and her feet hit the ground lightly. His lips slid from hers as well but they didn't go far; rather, they trailed over her cheekbone. She shivered as he pulled her earlobe between his teeth. Her arms were no longer around his neck but on his chest, clenching the material of his shirt as she tilted her head to the side, giving him more room. "_Tristan_." she breathed, protesting. She felt him grin against her ear and then his lips were off of her. He grabbed her shoulders, spinning her around swiftly. Rory felt a gasp escape before she could stop it. She didn't have time to think or react before she felt Tristan's hands over hers and then the rough bark of the tree was under her palms, Tristan's hands covering hers on the trunk. She felt the warmth of his breath on her right ear, his chin brushing her right shoulder. His left hand, quick as lightning, was tangled in her hair and he was turning her face towards him, fusing her lips against his again. She inhaled deeply, unsure if her body was capable of handling so much intensity in so short a time.

The line of his body was hard against her back. She could feel him. His solid chest pushed into her shoulders and his washboard abdomen against her back. His knees must have been bent because despite the fact that he was a good six inches taller than her, she felt the curve of his hips snugly against her backside and the tops of his legs pressed against the backs of her thighs. This kiss was deeper than when she'd been against the tree, slower and less desperate. He moved his lips fully against hers, not rough or harsh, but still deep and demanding. This kiss was warmer. She still reeled from the shock of his sudden change in position. The faint thought hat she was amazed at how he maneuvered her body like she weighed nothing and were as flexible as a doll flew fleetingly through her mind, but it was drowned out as she felt his grip on her hair tighten. Rory kissed Tristan back slowly, opening her mouth to suck his bottom lip between her teeth. She felt him shiver and his hand against her own on the tree, as well as the one holding her hair, clenched reflexively, as if she'd his a pleasure point. At his reaction her body responded on its own again, her hands pushing against the tree to press her body back against his. This new position, with him pressed so closely behind her coupled with her ability to push closer against him, affected her differently than kissing him before had. There was something about the way his body hit hers at this angle that made the now-familiar fire roar in the pit of her stomach....and spread lower.

The gnawing at her core wasn't helped by the fact that Tristan's hand was slipping from the tree and trailing up her arm. He passed it over the curve of her shoulder, down her side to brush against the swell of her chest, over the inward curve of her waist and then over the spread of her hip. His hand rested there for a moment, his fingers gripping her hip bone in a torturous mix of pleasure and pain. She didn't think he realized how hard his fingers were against the thin layer of skin that separated her skirt from her bone. This, again, wasn't a bad pain though. His hand only stayed for a second and then it was gone, shocking her by trailing lower.

His mouth broke from hers to trail down her cheek, nipping at her jawline before connecting to her neck. She felt the pressure of his mouth increase as he pulled her skin between his teeth, marking her. Rory's head fell back, her breathing increasing as she gave him more room. She gasped, her fingers twitching against the bark of the tree as his hand slid from her hip, down her thigh. She felt the warmth of his hand through her skirt, but not the roughness she knew was there was well. His fingers and palm were hard against the front of her leg before sliding in and Rory's breath caught. His palm was warm, she could swear it was scorching through the material of her shirt as it slid dangerously up the inside of her thigh.

He stopped just before he touched her, his thumb brushing the junction of her leg and her pelvis. She whimpered, his name falling from her lips as she pushed harder back against him, not even knowing what she was asking for but certain that he did. She felt his hand hot and hard against her, his teeth and lips and tongue on the skin of her neck and shoulder as she shifted her lower body, trapped between his hand and his hips, trying to relieve some of the torturous pressure he'd inflicted on her.

Suddenly, without warning, his lips broke from her skin and she felt his cool breath on her ear. It was a moment before he spoke. "You're right." he said quietly, his voice taking a moment to even out. She turned her face to look at him questioningly, her mind fogged. His eyes were affected, but bright; a mixture of arousal and amusement. He slid his hand from her thigh, bringing it to grasp her hip gently in a much more chaste hold. He slowly released her hair, "I don't think I could convince you to want to sleep with me." He dropped his hands completely from her body, taking a step back. His gaze stayed locked on hers, amusement twitching the corner of his mouth.

She twisted around but had to lean her back against the tree for support, glaring at him, "What?"

He shrugged, his expression of amusement a mask. "You were right. I must overestimate my abilities.

Rory blinked slowly, unsure of how to react. There was a burning in her stomach, no longer of passion and heat, but of anger. Annoyance. She shook her head, "Is this a game to you?" she demanded sharply.

Tristan tapped her temple lightly, "Everything is a game, Leigh. It's just about whether we realize it or not." She opened her mouth to speak but had no words. She knew, when he'd first kissed her, that it was in response to her challenge. But she wouldn't have dreamed that that was what the entire thing was about. Tristan must have seen the hurt flash in her gaze because in an instant he softened, stepping closer to her. "Leigh." he took her face in his hands, tilting it up towards his, "I didn't mean that like it sounded."

She shook her head again, still hurt, "So is that what all of it is to you? Every woman that you've ever touched? Me? That girl in the servants' wing today, Kira?"

Tristan stiffened as if he'd been burned. His hands turned to stone on her face. "What?" his voice was deathly quiet.

"That girl today." Rory repeated, ignoring the warning look in his eyes, "Is she a game to you too?"

He dropped his hands from her face, his voice hard, "I wouldn't call her a game."

Rory stared up at him, "So then you care about her?"

He snorted humorlessly, "No."

"No?"

"No." he answered.

"Then why do you always go back to her?" she pushed.

He shook his head, "What are you talking about?"

"If you don't care about her, and she isn't a game, then why do you always go back to her?"

"Go back to her?"

"_Yes_." she snapped, exasperated. "Why is this an ongoing affair if you don't care and she isn't a game?"

He scrunched his forehead as if warding off a headache, "I don't know, Leigh, I don't want to talk about her."

"Well I do." she insisted.

He sighed, "Leave it, Leigh. She doesn't mean anything." she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest, "Three years, Tristan?"

He started, swinging around to face her, his eyes snapping, "What?"

Rory knew she should have been frightened of him, but she only became more indignant, "You've been sleeping with her for three years." she said quietly.

He stared at her, "Who told you that?"

Rory rolled her eyes, "It doesn't matter who told me. I'm asking whether she's a game to you."

"It was Matin, wasn't it?" it wasn't really a question.

"Tristan. That isn't what we're talking about. We're talking about the girl who was trying to have sex with you in the corridor today!" she yelled and then froze, her eyes widening. Tristan was unmoving, whatever he'd been about to say frozen on his face. He stared at her in shock. She realized her mistake as soon as the words were out of her mouth. She and Marty hadn't crossed them until after Kira had given up trying to seduce him. He had to know now that she'd been there before. Silence hung between them for an eternity.

Tristan shook his head again, "Leigh, I _don't _want to talk about her." he said firmly.

She pressed her lips together, watching him in the silence, "She's beautiful." she whispered finally.

Tristan's head snapped around to stare at her, surprised. "Is that why you're bringing her up?" he asked.

She looked up at him, "What?"

The anger and stony expression had drained from him, leaving him deflated but surprised, his gaze intense as he looked into her, "You're bringing her up because you're comparing yourself to her?"

Rory opened her mouth, blinking rapidly, caught off guard. She closed her mouth before shaking her head, "No." she sounded unconvincing even to herself.

Tristan crossed his arms over his chest leaning back on his heels, "Leigh." She sighed, looking away from him, but didn't respond. "Hey." she felt one of his hands curl under her chin, coaxing her gaze up to meet his, "Yes, I supposed she could be called beautiful, but there's nothing to her but a face. She's prurient, crude." he shook his head, pushing a lock of her hair from her face absentmindedly, "She has no endearing or amiable qualities." Rory glanced down, unable to keep her gaze locked onto his while his voice was so sincere and gentle. He continued anyway, "Leigh, her beauty is flat. The first time you see her is the best she ever looks. She isn't like you." he whispered. Rory felt her heart jolt, but she didn't respond, "Your beauty is so much more than your face or your body. It's your mind. Your spirit." she felt him shake his head, "You're kind. and you're selfless. You're so much smarter than almost anyone I've ever met and you speak what you believe." he pushed her chin up lightly so that she looked into his eyes, "The way you think, the way you move and laugh, and the way you fight make you so much more beautiful than she could ever hope be." he whispered, his voice painfully soft, "and every time I see you, it grows." He raised his other hand to trail gently through her hair, "You're nothing like her or anyone else that I've ever touched or even met. You don't need to compare yourself to her because there's no comparison, and you are _anything_ but a game to me, Leigh."

She bit her lip, looking up at him through hooded eyes, "Anything?" she whispered.

He laughed gently, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, "Anything."


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Alright kiddies, make yourselves comfortable because we have here a novella of a chapter. I promise I didn't mean for it to be nearly so long, I don't know what happened. _

_2: And yes, the rating has jumped, but that doesn't mean there are going to be any raunchy sex scenes now or in the future so you wicked children get your minds out of the gutter :) I'm not positive that the story is absolutely deserving of an M rating right now, but just to be on the safe side...there are a few questionable scenes and I would be quite angered if this fic were deleted because of a rating issue. _

********

Rory yawned in half-consciousness, closing her eyes tighter and snuggling deeper against the warm body next to her. Her head rested on a shoulder and a leanly but solidly muscled arm was wrapped around her, warming her and holding her in place protectively. Another head was in her lap, using her as a makeshift pillow. The scraping of boots and snoring of men surrounded her. She pushed her face deeper into the shoulder below her, wanting to fall back into slumber but knowing it wasn't going to happen. She sighed quietly, sagging against the body next to her for another moment before opening her eyes.

She was sitting on a hard wood floor, her back against the wall, and her body was swaying back and forth gently with the motion of the stagecoach she rode in. A sheathed sword dug into her thigh. She looked down to try to see whose it was, but they were packed in so tightly there was no telling. She sat up straight and the head that had been on her lap thunked heavily to the ground. She cringed and looked down to see that Dorian, who had been using her as a pillow, still dozed heavily on despite the bruise he was sure to get. She almost laughed, but was too tired to be really amused, and yawned again, stretching her arms above her head. Callum, who she had been sleeping on, felt her shift and woke up halfway. He squinted one eye at her, tightening his arm around her, "Wassa matter?" he asked groggily, his voice thick with sleep and his eye unfocused.

She shook her head, speaking quietly so as not to wake the men around her, "Nothing. I just woke up. Go back to sleep."

He muttered something unintelligible before conking over, landing heavily on the wooden floor now that he was no longer keeping her comfortable. She almost had a twinge of guilt, knowing that he hadn't been completely comfortable in his previous position because he wanted to keep her warm, but it quickly faded considering she hadn't asked him to do it. As soon as they'd sat down to sleep she'd shivered and he'd wrapped an arm around her, pulling her against his side.

They'd set out before sunrise that morning for the border of Hartford to drop the new guard off for their newest task, to find their way back to the city quickest in the groups they were assigned. The three dozen or so men had been piled into three stagecoaches and throughout the day they'd talked quietly and examined their weapons for any weaknesses or imperfections as they were gently pitched from side to side with the movement of the stagecoaches. Groups of men occasionally jumped from the moving wagons to run alongside the swiftly traveling caravan and stretch their legs, not wanting to suffer from cramps or muscle pains once they started their journey back. But mostly they'd ridden in a taught silence, strained with stress and tension as the men worried about what was ahead of them.

The stagecoach they were in was made of thick slats of wood angled downward so that if you were inside, you could see strips of the world around you. The slant allowed air to circulate through the stagecoach but prevented rain from getting inside. The back of the wagon was open but rolled against the top was a pliable cover from the hide of some animal that you could pull down and secure in a heavy rain so that the inside wouldn't get wet.

She squinted out into the darkness, trying to figure out what time of night it was, but couldn't even begin to guess. She wondered briefly what had awoken her, but then heard voices outside. Rory bit her lip, looking at the men packed in tightly around her and silently wished not to wake or disturb any of them before sliding away from Callum and Dorian and slipping lithely and silently through the bodies on the floor. She kneeled at the back of the wagon, looking out. The caravan was slowing. Mark, a member of the old guard, was driving the second stagecoach; so kneeling at the opening of the first she was facing him. He raised a hand in greeting to her. She smiled, waving to him as well. Most members of the old guard rode on horseback at the front and back of the caravan, as well as flanking the wagons that carried their apprentices.

Rory shifted to the side, clutching the solid beams that lined the large opening she crouched in. She looked up to make sure that no horseman was close before casting her eyes down to the ground that was moving out from under the wooden wheels. She gauged the speed of the stagecoach and the distance to the ground before jumping lightly from the wagon. She hit the ground running.

When she landed her feet didn't hit the roughly trodden forest trail she'd expected, instead they landed on packed earth. She looked around as she jogged to the front of the stagecoach to see that they were out of the woods and were traveling on a worn path through a rolling countryside. Ahead of them the lights of a small village burned in the distance, a tiny illumination in the otherwise complete darkness.

She jogged to the front of the stagecoach she'd been riding in and swiftly grabbed one of the handle holds on the side, swinging herself up onto the seat the driver, in this case Logan, perched on. "Hey Leigh." he said without taking his eyes off the path in front of him. He sat tall, the reins clutched in his hands to control the six horses that pulled the stagecoach.

She grinned, "Hey Logan."she shifted closer to him; it was much colder riding in the front in mid-autumn without anything to protect her as the chilled night air assaulted her face and blew her hair behind her.

He glanced over at her for a moment before holding the reins out to her, "Here, take these for a minute." Her eyebrow arched questioningly. He grinned crookedly, "Just for a minute. I don't think you can crash it in that short of a time.

She shrugged, taking the thick leather straps from him, "Fine. But if I kill us all it's on your conscience."

He shook his head, still amused, as he pulled his thick wool cloak over his head and dropped in onto hers, pulling the hood up to cover her eyes before snatching the reins back, "There. We wouldn't want you to catch your death."

Rory laughed lightly, touched by the action, as she pushed the hood back but pulled the surprisingly soft wool around her. It was much too large, which only made it better, "Thank you."

He nodded, looking back to the road, "You're very welcome."

"But won't you get cold?" she asked.

He shook his head lightly, "No, not for a while."

She nodded and they fell into a comfortable silence, the only sounds surrounding them were the creaking of wood and stretching of leather, the beating of hooves against the hard ground. No one spoke in the entire caravan, the vast majority of the trainees asleep in the wagons while the trainers rode in silence. Rory sighed, closing her eyes and leaning her head back to let the wind run through her hair and over her face. They were in the first of the three wagons, so there was nothing before her to cushion the wind. It took her breath away when she leaned her head back, making inhaling an effort. But she still did it, opening her eyes to stare up at the expanse of stars above them. She should have felt exposed, unguarded with all the open space above them and the bare land around them with only rolling pastures and fields, the faint line of mountains in the distance, but she didn't. Instead she felt free.

After a stretch of silence she spoke to Logan, dropping her head, "Why are we slowing down? Are we stopping in this village?"

"Yes." he spoke again without looking from the road, "This is a heavy load for the horses and we don't want to exhaust them, so we're switching them out at an inn here."

She looked over at the six stallions galloping before her, "Will there be eighteen horses for us to use?"

He laughed lightly, as if she'd asked a childish question, "Leigh, this is the king's personal guard. We can have whatever we want."

Rory scoffed, rolling her eyes, "Nice." she crossed her arms over her chest; it always seemed to slip her mind exactly how infuriatingly cocky Tristan and Logan were.

He nudged her playfully with his elbow, "Calm yourself. We're just going to borrow them. These will rest for a day and we'll exchange the borrowed ones back for them on our return journey." She felt him look over at her, but she ignored him. "And," he added, "We already contacted this innkeeper. He has them for us to borrow."

Rory turned to look at him and see that he was smirking, having purposely annoyed her. She stared at him expressionlessly for a moment before arching her eyebrow, "You're obnoxious."

Logan just laughed, the wind carrying his voice out into the empty world around them.

*********

Late the next afternoon Rory walked back to the wagons with Logan, looking at the ground. They'd dropped the men off at the border of Hartford and Gildren and gone with them to the place they would camp for the night. The next morning the new guard would begin their trek back to the castle on foot. Half of the old guard would stay back to set up tests and ambushes. She, Logan, and the other half of the old guard would return to the castle. The old guard was returning to protect Tristan if the need should arise and she and Logan were returning because Tristan's friends would be arriving in two days. They were scheduled to arrive back at the castle the night before his friends did. Max Medina was driving himself mad with preparations, and taking Rory down into his insanity with his strange conviction that she could make the tenth anniversary of Tristan's father's death easier on him.

She and Logan walked in silence, the sun hanging low in the sky. "You're quiet."

Rory pressed her lips together, blinking slowly into the pink glow of the waning sun, "Yeah. Logan?"

He looked over at her, caught by the question in her voice, "Yes?"

"I have a favor to ask." she said quietly.

He hesitated for a moment, "What's that?"

She nodded to the southeast, "My home village is a few hours ride that way. And I know we're not supposed to see our families until the training is done, but I'm not really part of the guard." she bit her lip. He didn't speak and so she continued, "And I'm sure my parents are losing their minds. When your father brought me with the other men from my village we weren't even sure if I'd be staying and now it's been almost three months since I've seen them. I know they were sent a letter telling them that I would be staying but..." she trailed off, trying to keep the longing from her voice. She looked up at him to see that he was staring in the direction she'd motioned towards. "It's only a few hours ride, and if I could have half a day, just to let them know that I'm alright....I can ride fast. I wouldn't return to the city that far behind the wagons."

Logan didn't look at her, but kept his gaze locked towards the southeast. His forehead was screwed up in concentration. He looked up at the sun, "We could probably get halfway there tonight and ride the rest in the morning."

Rory jolted in surprise, partly from his seeming permission and partly from his word choice, "We?"

He looked down at her, grinning lightly, "You don't honestly believe I'd let you travel on your own? Over night?"

She opened her mouth, but had no words, and so she closed it. He smiled lightly, putting his hand in the small of her back and guiding her towards the wagons and the horses that the old guard had been riding, "Steven, Kenneth!" he called. Two of the old guard turned. "You'll be driving the wagon back, Leigh and I are taking a detour and we'll be riding your horses."

They looked at him strangely, but nodded and said nothing. "Get two warm cloaks, two sleeping rolls, a map, a compass, some money, a water pouch, and some food." that was directed at Rory. She walked off slowly to the wagon that had held supplies and started pulling things from it, recovering from the shock of how easy it had been and watching Logan as he walked around to the back of one of the wagons and jumped up into it effortlessly, trudging to the front and pulling a box from the corner. He pushed it open and pulled out a sheet of parchment, a quill, and a small bottle of ink. He scribbled something onto the paper quickly before putting the ink and quill back in the box and jumping out of the wagon. He came to Mark and handed him the note, "Give this to the king. We'll be a few hours behind you returning. It might even be the next morning."

Mark nodded slowly, glancing at Rory as she approached, supplies in hand. "Is everything alright?" he asked slowly.

Logan nodded, easily taking the pile of things that was making Rory stumble, "Yeah, everything's fine. We're going to one of the near villages. Just give that note to Tristan." Mark nodded slowly but Logan had already turned away and was guiding Rory over to the two horses they'd be using. He tied the sleeping mats, water pouch, and bag of food onto the horses deftly before wrapping one of the riding cloaks around her shoulders and tying it swiftly, "How fast can you ride?" he asked, looking at her face rather than the knot as he tied it.

"Uhm...." she trailed off, still reeling from her easy victory as well as how fast he kept moving. She'd been prepared to beg and plead and grovel to convince him to let her visit her home. She found her voice after a moment of him smirking at her, "I can ride as fast as you can."

He laughed lightly, bending down and lacing his fingers with his palms up next to the horse, "I doubt it."

Her eyebrow arched as she stepped into his opened hands to push herself onto the horse. She swung her leg over, settling down heavily, "Try me."

Logan grinned, throwing the other cloak on and hauling himself easily up into his own saddle, "You don't want me to."

Rory just quirked her lip, amused and annoyed at the same time, before digging her heels into her horse's side and shooting off. She heard Logan's laughter as he took off after her.

********

Later that night, long after the moon had risen, they stopped to sleep for the night. Thy camped in a small clearing, laying their sleeping mats on either side of a fire Logan kindled, just enough for heat and light as they slept. Rory sat heavily, her thighs aching from the hard ride. Logan moved around lithely as if he were used to it and so she made an extra effort to hide her discomfort, although she was sure he knew she was in pain and enjoying it. She'd kept up with him, surprisingly, and she was nearly positive he hadn't been holding back for her. Although next time she would put more thought into it before posing a challenge like she had, telling the second-in-command of the military that she could ride as fast as him....not her brightest idea. She felt worse for the horses than herself, though.

Logan, from across the fire, tossed her an apple. She caught it reflexively, distracted as she heard him bite sharply into his own. Rory held the hard fruit between her hands, pressing her fingernails against the shining red surface but not with enough pressure to puncture the skin. She pressed her lips together, staring at the fire as it crackled and popped. They sat in silence, the fire and wind through the trees the only sound besides Logan's chewing. "You're quiet." his voice was hoarse. They hadn't spoken much since they'd left the others. "I thought you'd be jumping around all night because you get to see your family."

"I am excited." she said quietly, glancing at the apple in her hands, "But I'm confused, I guess."

"Why is that?"

She looked up at him, "Why did you give in so easily? I mean, I thought it was a slim chance that I'd even be able to go, let alone you coming with me. I thought I'd have to beg and plead and scream and yell, but you just...." she trailed off, shaking her head, "let me go. And came with me."

Logan looked at her without speaking and she could tell that he was trying to figure out the best way phrase what he was going to say next. "I let you go, because I think you deserve to see your family. But I came with you because I wanted to talk to you."

She pulled her knees to her chest, knowing where this was going, "About Tristan?"

He nodded slowly, staring into the fire. "Yes, partly. But mainly it's about your friends."

Her eyebrows drew together. That wasn't what she'd been expecting, "What?"

"You spend most of your time with men. Marty, Callum, Dorian, Nick. Me. And Tristan notices." he shook his head lightly, his gaze caught by the fire. She watched him in silence, unsure of what to think. She'd rather he looked at her than the fire. Logan exhaled quietly, pressing his lips together as his eyebrows pulled together in thought, "Leigh, Tristan....he's possessive of things. I think it's because, despite the fact that he oversees an entire kingdom, he doesn't really have anything to call his own. So when there's something that's his, something that is absolutely and irrefutably his, he wants to hold onto it as tightly as he can because he's afraid that he'll lose it." he sighed, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. "This land, the kingdom, it isn't his, not really. Leadership is revolving. If something were to go wrong it wouldn't be his anymore. He's just watching over it for now, taking care of it until the next king comes along. All of it. _Nothing_ really belongs to him. It's like his whole life everything that he has is only temporary, so whenever there is anything that is completely his he feels this urgency to claim it and keep it in his sights always, because he's frightened that soon he won't have it anymore, that it will be taken away just as easily as everything else." Logan bit his lower lip thoughtfully, staring into the fire for another moment before sweeping his gaze up to Rory, his face pained as he struggled for words, "I think Tristan feels like that about you. I think he feels that you're the only thing he has that hasn't been won by someone else. You're the only one who sees him for who he is, not as the role he was born to play. There are those of us who love him, of course, but we've known him for all our lives and so regardless of what he does or who he becomes we'll always stand by him. I think he thinks that you're the only one who has seen him and accepted him for the person he is now, not because he's the king or your family or because you're duty-bound to do it.

"You're the only person I've ever seen him let his guard down with who he hasn't known for all his life. He feels like you're the only one who he's ever gotten all on his own, the only one who wanted to know _Tristan_ rather than the king, the only one he ever got without his title." he sighed, shaking his head lightly, "No, that isn't right." he looked around, searching for a way to phrase his thoughts, "I don't mean the only one he ever _got_. I mean that he feels like you're the only person he's ever met and befriended and cared for, you're the only one who has ever cared for him because of the person he is rather than his crown. And because of that he feels like you're his. And I don't mean that in any way. I don't mean it as you're a possession rather than a person. I don't mean that he sees you as only a body and not an individual. I mean that he wants you, more than he's wanted anything in his life, and he's terrified to losing you.

"You're the only one I've ever seen him care for, be gentle towards. You're the only one I've ever seen him sacrifice for. But it's confusing for him. He doesn't know what to think or what to do because he's never cared for a woman before–" Logan broke off suddenly, snapping his gaze up to hers.

Rory blinked, shocked as his head jerked up. She stared back at him, having no idea what to make of his speech as her mind reeled, "What?" she asked quietly.

He squinted his eyes at her thoughtfully, "He's never cared for a woman before. And I hadn't thought about it, but I just realized, you're the only _person_ I've ever seen him be possessive of. The only one he's ever been afraid of losing." She shook her head lightly, uncertain of how to respond, but Logan went on, "He's possessive of things, but never before you has he been possessive of a person. Back to my original point, though, Leigh, is that you need to be careful with your friends."

"Why?" she asked, pressing her lips together. Tristan got jealous occasionally, of course, but she didn't think that any of her friends were in danger. She knew Tristan was dangerous, but he wouldn't possibly harm any of them on her account.....would he?

It was a moment before Logan spoke, his eyes back on the flames between them, "I don't have any brothers, Leigh, and neither does Tristan. But we grew up together, closer than most siblings. We are the closest thing each other has to a brother. I mean, I'm closer to him than I am to my sister or my parents and the only person I know of that he was as close to as he is to me was his father. He's my closest friend and confidant, my brother by more than blood. Tristan and I are closer to each other than to anyone else on this earth." he paused, raising his face to look at her, "But Leigh, there have been times when he's walked into a room and seen me with you, seen us laughing or talking or playing around, and the look he's given me has made me almost fear for my life. I don't think it's conscious, I don't think he even realizes it. But he's given me the darkest, most threatening looks I've ever gotten from anyone in my life."

Rory opened her mouth, lost for words. "I..." she trailed off helplessly, "I'm sorry?" she whispered weakly, uncertain of what he wanted her to say.

Logan waved her apology away, "No, no. I didn't tell you that to make you feel guilty. I told you because I want you to understand what I'm saying. Tristan looked at me like that because, even though he knows that nothing would ever happen between us, he's worried. You and Tristan take each other seriously. More seriously than you take any of the rest of us, Marty, Nick, Callum and Dorian, myself. And because you take him more seriously, because you care more for him, watching you with us shows him a side of you that he doesn't often get to see, and he's bothered by it."

She shook her head, guilt at his words roiling in her stomach. She spoke quietly, "Logan, I don't care for him more–" she broke off, tasting the lie even as it slid from her lips.

Although he didn't smile immediately, his expression was amused as his gaze trailed down to the side of her neck. At first Rory didn't realize what he was looking at but after a moment she remembered the night before they'd set out to take the men, when Tristan had pushed her against the tree. Amid the pressure of his ever-wandering hands and his never-satisfied mouth he'd bitten her neck and then soothed the spot with his lips, sucking on the skin until he marked her. She raised her hand reflexively to cover the fading mark, but couldn't push back the small smile that forced it's way onto her lips. The corner of Logan's lip quirked, shooting her a crooked grin, "Differently, then, if you won't admit that it's more. But my point is this, Tristan cares for me more than he cares for nearly anyone else he's ever known. We're family, we grew up together, we've known each other all our lives. And you, after being here for three months, have burrowed your way so completely into his heart and his soul, that he will look at me in a way that men only employ to threaten each other with death." She opened her mouth but he cut her off, grinning, "I know, Leigh, that Tristan would never actually hurt me. He wouldn't. But your friends...." he trailed off, sighing, "Martin especially, I would be worried for." he shook his head lightly, "I don't think that Tristan would actually do anything. He learned long ago the mistakes of rash decisions when it comes to dealing out death." Rory's head snapped up at that, but Logan didn't seem to notice, "I don't really think they're in danger, but I think you should be careful."

******************************

It was late the next evening that they headed out of Stars Hollow and back to the castle. It had gone shockingly well. They'd arrived late in the morning and Rachel had been hanging linens when Rory and Logan had come to the inn the family ran and as soon as she had seen Rory approaching she'd thrown the laundry to the ground, screamed her name, and sprinted to the gate. Rory had barely slid from the horse before her adoptive mother had her in a hug tight enough to strangle her. She hadn't complained though. Rachel had cried silently, burying her face in Rory's hair as she held her closer than she had since Rory first came to live with them as a child.

There had only been two tense moments the whole day. The first was introducing Logan to Jess. After Jess's initial greeting of staring at her as if she were a ghost and then grabbing her and swinging her around in a wide circle so that her feet came a foot off the ground and they almost fell over from relieved laughter, he set her back on the ground and hugged her to his chest, his solid arms holding her close. She'd pulled back after a moment and nodded towards Logan, introducing him as the king's cousin and the second-in-command of the military. Jess had fixed Logan with a cold glare, ignoring the hand that was stretched out for a greeting. Rory had nudged her cousin and he'd glanced down at her before nodding to Logan stiffly. The second had been at the end of the visit, when Luke realized that Rory was returning to the castle. He'd stepped towards Logan threateningly, fists clenched for a fight. Logan hadn't flinched, just looked over at Rory with a bored expression. She'd had to lay a hand on her adoptive father's chest, reassuring him that it wasn't nearly as bad as they'd initially thought, and he'd reluctantly backed down.

Other than that she'd split the afternoon between sitting with Luke and Rachel and spending time with Lane, Dave, and Jess. Lane and Dave hadn't married yet. He and Jess were still building the house the couple would live in; several weeks earlier a storm had blown through and collapsed the unfinished roof and one of the unprotected walls, setting them back several weeks. Once the house was finished they would marry, but between working with their respective parents and helping Lane's father with his house and work they had little time to put towards the new home.

Nothing had changed in the three months she'd been gone. But nothing ever changed in a village like Stars Hollow. She'd wanted to tell Lane about Tristan, confess everything that had happened and everything she feared would happen, but hadn't gotten a chance to. That was what was on her mind when Logan suggested they stop to give the horses a rest.

She looked at the woods around them, following him into a small clearing before dismounting and petting the horse's neck gently. She took a step back, looking up at the fading light that turned the sky to a rosy pink. Logan dismounted in silence and led the horses to a stream that cut through a corner of the clearing. He rotated his shoulders, stretching his arms out from the hours of riding. But said nothing. Rory watched him in profile, her eyes narrowed as she tried to figure him out. She looked away after a moment, yawning as she pulled her riding cloak tighter around herself. They'd ridden in silence, no goading or kidding, and now the stillness surrounded them and pressed in. It wasn't an awkward silence, exactly, but it was thick, thick and unnatural because they were never silent when they were together. He held out an apple and a chunk of bread wrapped in a cloth, but she shook her head and he tossed the food back into the satchel on the horse's saddle, apparently not hungry himself either. A word hadn't passed between them. He pulled out the map and compass, turning slightly and moving the map around. He glanced between them quickly before sliding them back into another bag on his horse's saddle.

It wasn't long before he retrieved the horses and tossed her the reins to the one she'd been riding. They mounted without a sound and set off, Logan in the front and Rory trailing closely.

Before they'd stopped he'd been running the horses at a swift pace, making Rory wonder what kind of rush he was in to get back to the castle. But now they walked slowly, the head of Rory's horse even with the neck of Logan's, not even trotting through the darkening woods. Logan shifted thoughtfully before her. "Your family loves you." he said quietly, his voice awed.

She looked over at him but he stared forward, his forehead tensed in puzzlement. "Yes." she said quietly, a note of amusement in her voice at his observation of and shock at something so completely obvious.

He bit the insides of his cheeks, blinking slowly, "You should cherish that." She didn't respond. If anyone appreciated being loved, not taking their family for granted, it was her. "Your mother especially," he went on after a moment, "she must love you very much."

Rory couldn't stop the smile that spread across her face at that, "Rachel just worries about me, especially being away from me now...." she trailed off, pressing her lips together.

Logan looked over at her for the first time, "What?"

"What?" she asked, looking forward.

"You just called your mother Rachel." he said without inflection.

Rory opened her mouth, her stomach dropping, "Did I?"

He nodded slowly, his eyes still on her, "Yes. You did." She said nothing, refusing to look at him. He spoke after a moment, "I don't know anyone who refers to their mother by her first name." he said lightly. He didn't say it accusingly, but there was a lilt of interest in his voice.

She breathed slowly, licking her lips as she steeled herself to what she was about to say, "Well Luke and Rachel....they aren't really my parents."

He didn't answer but she felt his shock radiating as if in waves. Whatever he had expected it wasn't that. She inhaled deeply closing her eyes for a moment before looking over at him. He was staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. "What?" he said finally, shaking his head lightly.

Rory bit her bottom lip, exhaling heavily, "They aren't my real parents. They took me in when I was young."

"Wha...." he trailed off. She could almost see his mind working, trying to catch up to what was happening. "What happened to your parents?"

"They died." she said quietly, cursing herself silently for her big mouth.

"I'm sorry." he muttered.

She shook her head jerkily, a strange rushing sound in her ears nearly muted him out, "No, don't be. I barely remember them."

"How did they die?" he wasn't harsh, he didn't seem to disbelieve what she was saying or have unwarranted suspicions, but he was obviously still in shock.

"A flu." she looked over at him, "My mother came down with it early one winter. Then my father." she stopped, wondering what to say next. Then she decided she might as well make it as close to the truth as she could. "My parents sent word to a cousin of my father's, asking her to take me away before I got it too. So she came and took me back to her village–"

"How old were you?"

She froze, blinking slowly, "Four." she whispered, unsure of where that number had come from.

"So Rachel is your father's cousin?"

Rory felt panic deep in her chest as words spilled from her mouth, "No. No she isn't. I lived with my father's cousin and her husband for a while and then–" she broke off, searching for something, "then one day while I was swimming with some children from the village the house caught fire." she pressed her lips together, closing her eyes so that she wouldn't give herself away. Maybe he'd think it was from grief, "Neither of them were able to get out." she opened her eyes, refusing to look at him, "Rachel was close friends with my father's cousin. She and Luke took me in and brought me to Stars Hollow."

"How old were you?"

Rory clenched her jaw, opening her mouth for a moment before she spoke, "Eight."

He nodded slowly, taking it all in, "But they gave you their last name?"

She nodded, "They raised me as their daughter."

Logan didn't speak for a stretch as everything soaked in, "But what about your cousin?"

She glanced over at him, "Jess?"

"Yeah."

She shook her head lightly, "What about him?"

"How did he come to be there? What happened to his parents?"

His question was followed by silence. She wasn't sure how to respond, uncertain of whether it was her place to tell Jess's business. After a moment she decided it wouldn't hurt anything, "His father was a village troublemaker, gone before Jess was even born. And his mother is unstable, she constantly goes from place to place, Jess was on his own so much he was practically an orphan. Finally she gave him to Luke, saying that he needed a man to raise him, to teach him how to be, but really she just didn't want to hassle with him." she fell silent, exhaling quietly, "He was almost ten when she left him." she broke off again, feeling like she should have added more, but there was nothing more to say.

Logan watched her in the falling darkness, her features becoming harder to distinguish as the night rose blue around them. "I had no idea." he said quietly.

She looked over at him, tilting her head. It was close enough to the truth, the lie she'd told him. How old she was and the ways they all died was off, but other than that it was true enough. "How could you?" she whispered, turning away from him to look back to the forest ahead of them.

He looked at her guiltily for a moment, "When–"

She cut him off, "Don't tell Tristan, please."

His head cocked back, surprised, "What?"

"I just, I haven't told him." she shook her head, "I don't know, please don't tell him."

"I..." he trailed off.

"_Logan_." she pressed, pleading.

"Okay, I won't tell him." he said quietly.

"Swear it." she said sharply.

His voice was gentle, "I swear."

She exhaled quietly and nodded, "Thank you."

He opened his mouth to reply, but she'd already dug her heels into the sides of her horse, pushing it rapidly into a gallop, and Logan had nothing to do but follow.

********************************

As soon as Rory entered the castle the next morning she was snatched by Anna and dragged upstairs in a flurry. Before she knew what had happened she was sitting in a tub of water in her power room, soap suds floating through the air. There was a sharp yipping from the ground and she looked around the tub to see that her runt mastiff puppy, Duke, was jumping around, scratching at the tub to try to get to her. She smiled down at him, "Ohh hello." he barked manically, whining as his tail wagged so hard that his whole backside moved. She laughed, reaching a hand out to him, which he bit lightly, rubbing his nose on her fingers, "Oh I missed you too, Duke, yes I did." He whined, jumping up and scratching his front paws at the tub, frantic. "Aww, you don't want to get in here with me, I promise you won't like it."

"Duke, go." Anna commanded, walking over to the tub. He barked at her and stayed where he was. Rory laughed and sat back in the tub. Anna came over and grabbed Rory's head roughly, rubbing the coarse soap through her hair, working it into a lather as she muttered about pig-headed girls running to all parts of the country the night before they were meant to be presentable and look like a lady, no matter how insurmountable a task that may seem.

Then again, before she could react, she was pulled from the water and the maid had thrown a terrycloth around her and was chafing it against her skin and hair, pulling the moisture out. Anna directed her to sit still as she went to the windowsill and picked up the jar of amber wax that Rory hadn't noticed before. At that she stood, the towel wrapped around her chest fell to just above her knee. She protested but Anna ignored her, pushing her back into the chair. Her hair, still heavy with water from her bath, hung lankly on her shoulders. She pushed it behind her as Anna swirled the wax with a smooth strip of wood, ignoring the grumblings of the girl before her. It always went quicker when she didn't fight and Anna was uncharacteristically malaise this morning, so Rory sat in silence, only making noise when she cursed as Anna ripped off what felt all her skin to the bone.

When she was finished Anna disappeared through the heavy door that led into Rory's bedroom, but she was only gone for a few minutes before returning with a smaller jar of a light green cream in one hand and a hot teacup in the other. She kneeled in front of Rory and handed her the cup. Rory looked down at it and sighed, not even bothering to put forth the effort to protest the pregnancy preventing tea that Anna forced down her throat every other day. She pressed her lips together, watching as the old woman smoothed the thick cream onto her legs that calmed the inflamed skin and helped to pull up any residue of wax that was left behind. The towel was pushed to the very tops of her thighs so that Anna was able to reach her whole leg and when her surprisingly warm hands moved to the highest part of Rory's leg she felt a thrill of fear deep in her stomach, a wave of heat passing over her forehead. That always happened whenever Anna's hands or eyes ventured anywhere near her covered crest.

Rory was still surprised that she hadn't fainted the night before she left to take the men to the border. Tristan had had her outside, by herself, his hands all over her. The thought of him finding her crest had merely been a nagging at the back of her mind, annoying because it prevented her from focusing all thought on his touch that was everywhere and his mouth that was consuming her, his presence and the energy that radiated from him making rational thought and worry impossible. He'd gripped her hip bone painfully, his fingers pushing against her crest through her dress. And she hadn't even thought anything of it. If things has gone even slightly farther he could have easily found her crest and she hadn't thought anything of it. Yet here there was no reason that Anna would lift the towel any higher and expose her brand, but she was nearly paralyzed with fear. She didn't make any sense even to herself.

As soon as her legs were coated Rory was ordered behind the changing screen and she pulled the floor-length slip over her head. Anna came around and laced up the corseted back with quick, wicked motions until Rory could barely breathe, then she directed Rory to step into a light grey dress so she could lace it up tighter than the first.

Still muttering about impossible girls that Tristan insist she look after, Anna twisted her around and pushed her so that she fell into the stiff-backed chair in front of the vanity. The terrycloth came back and Anna rubbed it fiercely through her hair, pulling as much water out as she could. She came around to face Rory and grabbed her chin in a pincer-like grip, turning Rory's face up towards her. Rory, who wanted very much to protest, refrained. She'd never seen Anna in such a foul mood, which was definitely saying something. Anna parted Rory's hair off to the left side and slid her fingers through it, ruffling it so that it dried faster and with more volume, cascading down her back in full waves. The old maid pulled several sections of her hair back, weaving a plait down the right side of her face, the side with more hair. The braid wound down her hairline and behind her ear, where Anna secured it with a cord tied into a knot. The rest of her hair fell around her in waves and Anna pushed it back, sliding her fingers down the braid that would keep the hair out of Rory face.

Anna glanced at the container of powder sitting on the vanity behind her, but seemed to think better of it, because she turned back around to face Rory, sighing as she waved a hand at her dismissively, "Go. Go. You'll just rub it all off as soon as you leave the room anyway."

Rory stared up at her in silence, unsure of how to respond to the first thing Anna had directly said to her in the hour she'd been in the room. "Uhm...." she trailed off, opening her mouth, "Go where?"

Anna shook her head, waving her hand, "Wherever you want. I was just told to make you presentable." she wrinkled her nose, "And looking at you now as opposed to what you came in looking like I'd say I'm practically a miracle worker. Now go." she turned to empty the tub, "I didn't do all that so you could sit there and stare at me." Rory opened her mouth to speak, but had nothing to say and so, still confused, she stood. She was almost to the door when Anna spoke again, "Tristan is in his study, I believe, being difficult. As usual." Rory glanced back at Anna before pressing her lips together and pushing open the door, stepping in the direction of Tristan's study.

By the time she reached the room it was afternoon. She and Logan had arrived late in the morning and Anna's torture had taken the rest of the morning and the very beginning of the afternoon, what with the bath and the waxing and the time it took for her hair to dry. She was surprised, on reaching the study, to see that the door was bolted shut. She glanced around, confused, before knocking quietly.

"Go _away_, Paris. You're annoying." he called out from inside without opening the door.

Rory's head cocked back, surprised, "Paris?" she asked, loud enough for him to hear her. There was movement from inside. "It's not Paris–" She heard the lock of the door sliding before it was flung open to reveal a grinning Tristan, cutting her off.

"Leigh." he wrapped an arm around her and swung her into the room, using his other hand to slam the door shut and bolt it again. He turned, his arm still around her, and leaned his head down, catching her lips in a warm, unexpected kiss; cutting off whatever she might have said. She gasped initially, not from the surprise but from his unexpectedly rough and itchy skin. It took her a second to realize that he had stubble on the lower half of his face, she'd never thought about it before, that he was always clean-shaven. He must have just decided he couldn't be bothered with it this morning or the day before because it obviously hadn't have been long since he'd shaved; his beard was still invisible, she hadn't even seen the wheat toned hair when she'd entered. Rory brought her hands up to either side of his face, the coarse facial hair chafing against her palms. It took only a moment for her to get used to the rough barbs poking her and once she was no longer surprised, she realized she didn't dislike it.

She sighed, wrapped her arms around his neck, giddy from being so close to him again. Usually when he kissed her it turned serious very quickly, but this time it didn't. He twisted around, walking backwards and bringing her with him without breaking his lips away from hers. His other hand came to curl around the side of her neck, his thumb brushing against her jawline as his lips moved fully against her own. She could feel a smile in his kiss, a playfulness and an energy she didn't feel with him often.

He stopped moving once they were on the other side of the room, next to the large window and bench set into his wall filled with books and she broke away slowly, smiling up at him, "Hi."

He grinned at her crookedly, his eyes bright, "Hello. How was Stars Hollow?"

She nodded, "It was nice."

"Good." he collapsed down onto the cushioned window seat, pulling her to sit next to him.

She laughed but allowed him to guide her to the seat, "Who was it that you thought I was?"

"When you knocked on the door just now?" he asked, slipping his arm between her back and the stone of the wall under the window, wrapping it around her to bring her closer.

"Mhmm." Rory shifted, making his job of pulling her against him easier. She curled her knees up and rested them on the cushion in front of her, angling her body towards his.

"Paris. A girl I grew up with, her father is a nobleman who owns an expansive estate to the south of the city. She's the one that decided she was going to bring some of my friends to stay for my birthday–"

"Oh!" Rory cut him off, laying a hand on his chest absentmindedly, "Are they here?"

He nodded lightly, "Some of them. They've been arriving all morning." he made a face and she could tell that while he was slightly annoyed, he really was glad to have them.

"How many are there?" she asked, trying to remember.

He touched her hand that was over his chest, bringing it away so that he could look at it, skimming his fingers over her wrist and the back of her hand thoughtfully, "Seven are coming, Logan and I grew up with them." he brushed his fingertips over hers, counting his list off on her hand, "From Gildren there's Finn, the prince; and then Henry, who is actually from Koral–"

Rory sat up in surprise, cutting him off, "What?"

He looked up at her, "He's from Koral but his father is an ambassador to Gildren so he's lived there since he was young. You know, to the north we're bordered by Gildren, which is coastal. Across the sea is Koral–"

"No." she laughed in disbelief, shaking her head lightly, "I know where it is. My best friend Lane is from Koral. I've just never met anyone else from there."

His head cocked back, "Someone in your village is from Koral?"

She nodded, "Yes, her parents came to Hartford right after they were married. I just...." she trailed off, "I've never met anyone but her." Tristan nodded thoughtfully, still surprised, but said nothing. Rory relaxed back against him, "Sorry, go on. That's two."

He smiled at her lightly, looking back to her hand that was still in his own. He touched her middle finger lightly, still counting, "Madeline is also from Gildren, her father is one of the highest lords there." he stopped pensively, tracing down the side of her finger lightly. She felt herself shiver. Tristan's lip quirked in amused satisfaction, obviously feeling it, but said nothing about it, "You'll like Madeline, I think. She's too gentle and naive not to like. And I know you'll love Finn." there was a lilt in his voice at the end that she couldn't read, but he went on before she could say anything about it. "The rest are coming from parts of our kingdom. I already told you about Paris. I think you will get along with her," he laughed lightly, "after a little while, at least." She wasn't comforted by his laugh, but said nothing, allowing him to continue. He slid his fingertips lightly down the sides of her thumb, her fifth finger, before pressing her nail between his fingers thoughtfully, "Louise is coming, but she doesn't have far. Her father has an estate not far from Paris's, but by the time she was fourteen or fifteen she couldn't stand to be that far from court, so she moved to one of the mansion houses in the city with her aunt and uncle." he traced his fingers down her thumb and across the bottom of her palm, brushing against the inside of her wrist. Rory pressed her lips together, pushing down a shiver that was a mixture of shock and something else at the gentle tingle that radiated from his nails trailing along the thin skin. His touch swept up the outside of her little finger, running gently across the tip of her short fingernail as he continued speaking, "Colin McRae, he's coming from the north. He lives close to the border between Hartford and Gildren."

"Will I like them?" she asked.

Tristan laughed out loud, "Possibly the day before they leave you'll start to like them. At first Louise is abrasive and malicious about petty things, but once she gets closer to someone she drops it towards them." he fell silent for a stretch before opening his mouth thoughtfully, "But I think she'll like you. More than you'll like her at first." He grinned at her and then finished, "And the last is my cousin Stephanie, on my mother's side, so she isn't family to Logan. Her family's estate is out in the country to the far east."

Rory nodded lightly, still unsure of why she was getting pulled into all of this, but not bothered by it. "How many of them are here now?"

He glanced towards the door, "Paris, Stephanie, and Colin, as far as I know." he smirked lightly, "But I think Colin is trying to coerce one of the dairy maids into lecherous activities, Stephanie is stuck talking to my mother." Rory grimaced with empathy and Tristan laughed, squeezing her to his side playfully, "Because she's family, she's the only one coming who can't get out of it. And Paris....I'm not really sure where she is now." he nodded towards the room around them and Rory saw that it looked more used than it had before. Across from the fire place was a couch she'd seen before, but had never really noted. The cushions were thrown around, one resting against the arm of the couch as if it had been used for a pillow. Books, letters of complaint from citizens, and charts of military strategy littered the low table in front of the couch and the floor around it. She only took a moment to glance at the couch before Tristan spoke, "She was following me around after they got here, trying to make me be excited and badgering me about–" he broke off suddenly. Rory turned her head back towards him smoothly, a question in her gaze, wondering why he'd stopped. He bit the insides of his cheeks, grinning and shaking his head minutely, "Anyway, I came in here to get away from her but she just followed me and it took an hour to finally get her to go away. Once she was out I locked the door to keep her away, but she keeps coming back and sending Colin and Logan to try to get me to come entertain her."

"So you're hiding?" she asked, amused.

He looked down at her, straight faced, "Hell yes I am hiding."

Rory laughed out loud and Tristan grinned at her, his face lighting playfully, "Yes, however my self-imposed isolation is looking so much more promising now that you've arrive to entertain _me_."

Another bout of laughter escaped her uncontrollably as he pulled on her hand that was still clasped in his, using the arm around her waist to swing her over onto his lap so that she was straddling him. Her laughter was cut off as he pulled her face to his, fusing their lips together. Her toes were now pointed towards the floor and her backless shoes slipped from her feet, clunking loudly to the floor. The rough material of Tristan's shirt was clutched in her hands, over his shoulders, where she'd grabbed him to steady herself. Her grin faded as he deepened the kiss but the light, playful air didn't fade as he parted her lips with his tongue, nipping at her lips gently. She couldn't stifle the quiet giggles that evoked and rather than wait for her amusement to pass, Tristan just grinned and let her ride it out, laying light kisses over her laughing mouth. He trailed his lips down her cheek, scraping his teeth temptingly against her jawline. Her soft laughter hitched at that, but didn't completely die out until he reached her neck, where he alternated between warm, trailing kisses, biting her gently, and running his tongue along her skin. Her amusement was cut short at that, their light touches and playfulness fading as she let her head drop back, supported completely by the hand knotted in her hair. He kissed down her neck, biting her slowly and then soothing the skin with his lips, sucking it too gently to leave a mark anywhere but in her mind.

She started to shift her body to a more comfortable angle but was jerked back as she tried to move in a way her dress didn't allow. Tristan broke away from her neck with a start, looking up at her in confusion, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I just..." she trailed off, her cheeks burning, she was sure women like Kira didn't do hopelessly awkward things while kissing the king. She picked at her skirt which, because she was straddling him, her legs were holding in place against the bench, "...I can't really move that well. My dress is stuck."

Tristan looked down at her legs to see that she was indeed in a predicament. His eyes flicked back up to her, amused, "Here, sit up."

She gave him a strange look but did it without a word, putting her weight on her knees and pushing up so that she was no longer in his lap but kneeling on the bench, her knees on either side of his legs and her hands on his shoulders to steady herself. He leaned forward, his arms going around either side of her to reach towards her ankles. He grabbed the hem of her skirt before stopping and looking up at her, his forehead at the level of her chin, "May I?" he asked politely, though there was a devilish glint to his gaze.

Rory glanced over her shoulder to look at the skirt in question. She turned back around to face him, "Mhmm."

"Yes?" he asked, to clarify.

She rolled her eyes, not convinced by his innocent act, "Yes."

He grinned, leaning over to see around her body so that he could pull her skirt up to get it out of the way. He brought it up slowly, his fingers brushing against the smooth, bare skin of her legs. A part of her he'd never seen except for the time when she'd first arrived at the castle three months ago and a thoughtless comment from him had resulted in her being shoved into his room in the middle of the night in a short gown. But he hadn't really seen them then, only for a moment before giving her his robe to cover herself while she glared at him. Now, however, she wasn't glaring. She was chewing her bottom lip, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns into his shoulders as she allowed him to pull the cloth away from her legs so he could get back to kissing her. Her legs were still perfectly alabaster, untouched by her days of riding in the sun and training outside. He ran his hands slowly up the backs of her calves, itching to touch any part of her that he could and surprised by how smooth the skin there was. He couldn't imagine that this was of her own volition, which left him to assume Anna was forcing her into waxing her legs. There would only be one reason that Anna would do that and knowing Anna, she wouldn't keep it a secret from Leigh that this was in preparation for him. His reaction was mixed. There was guilt, because he didn't want her to think that he only spent time with her to get her into bed. But there was also a carnal satisfaction to know that it was done because of him. To know that this one thing about Leigh was done because he wanted it. Anna, in the small act of waxing Leigh's legs, was marking her as his. It was Anna's way of preparing Leigh for him, for what might happen, without explicitly saying it. He glanced up at her face to see that she was looking down at him, trying to gauge his own reaction while he looked to see hers.

The look in her eyes, the open uncertainty, made his chest burn. He wanted to gauge her reaction because he'd just realized that for months she must have been dealing with not only Anna, but others throughout the castle hassling her. Telling her that he only wanted one thing. Asking her if he'd laid her out. Probably not believing her when she denied it. And she had to know he wanted it. She had to realize, even through her innocence and naivety, that he wanted her body so much it hurt sometimes. He wanted to know what she thought, knowing that everyone expected her to sleep with him. And though she tried to hide it, he saw in her questioning gaze that she wondered if it was good enough. Not because everyone had told her that he'd want to bed her, and not because she felt like she had to, but because she wanted him to approve.

It made his chest constrict and his stomach hurt to see that look on her face, the veiled fear that she wasn't good enough. He didn't know what to do. Didn't know how to convey to her that not only was she _good enough_, but she was the single most amazing thing he'd ever seen. How could he possibly explain to her that he would rather run his hands up the back of her calves than touch any part of another woman's body? How could he tell her that he would rather pull her skirt up to her knees just so that she could move easier than take off anyone else's entire dress? What could he possibly say to convince her that he would rather kiss _her_ neck than have someone else's lips on any part of _his _body? Was it even possible that she would believe him if he told her that he'd rather kiss her just like this than go to bed with someone else? She wouldn't believe him, and even if she did he couldn't bring himself to say it. It wasn't the kind of thing he'd ever said. He wished, desperately, that she would see something in his face that communicated all that.

Her expression was indecipherable however, as he leaned back around to gather the skirt at the backs of her knees, "Here." he whispered gently, sliding one hand around to the front of her leg and tracing it up her shin to curl around her knee, lifting it up so that he could pull the skirt out from under it. Her bare kneecap came to rest on the cushion. He did the same to the other leg, pulling the dress through so that it bunched around her but was no longer under her.

Tristan slid his hands up her thighs, on the outside of her dress, until he came to her hips, which he wrapped his hands around gently before bending his head down to place a trail of slow kisses up her rib cage through her tight dress, squeezing her hips affectionately before pulling her down again. But he didn't only pull her down, he pulled her closer, so that she was nestled more intimately against him than she had been before. He didn't stop at her hips. His hands continued up her body slow and gentle, as if in prayer. They trailed up her sides and he felt her shiver above him, blinking rapidly. Her hands were still holding his shoulders, the pressure of them keeping him on the earth.

Tristan held her face between his palms reverently, his fingers sliding into her hair. "Have I ever told you how unbearably beautiful you are?" he spoke quietly, his voice hoarse for some reason, and he cursed himself mentally for how raw it sounded. How weak.

She looked at him in silence, nodding her head lightly, "Once." she whispered back.

He shook his head slowly, his voice tender and so quiet she almost couldn't hear him, "I should have told you everyday." She didn't reply, just looked at him cautiously. After a moment Tristan sighed shakily, his eyebrows drawn together, "You have no idea what you do to me, do you?" Rory's eyebrows knitted together and she pressed her lips together, uncertain of how to respond. Tristan looked at her eternally, running his thumb over her bottom lip, "No. You must not. If you did then you would never look at me the way you are right now."

Her face instantly cleared of any readable emotion. She looked at him through heavy lashes, her eyes wide, "How was I looking at you?"

He shook his head helplessly, not positive that he could stand the pain of putting it into words. Finally he spoke, "Lost. Unsure. Like you're worried that something utterly impossible will happen."

"Something utterly impossible?" she asked quietly.

He traced his fingers lightly down the braid at her hairline, "Like that I wouldn't be absolutely awed and enraptured by you." his hand slid from her braid to skim through her hair, "Or that you would ever, in any way, pale in comparison to anyone else." he brought his hand back to hold her jaw lightly so that she looked into his eyes, "Or that I could ever, in any world, not want you."

She didn't react at first, just looked at him as if she'd never seen him before. He shook his head, his expression warm as he pulled her face down to his, his lips meeting hers in a deep, reassuring kiss. The hand that was on her face slid to tangle in her hair and hold her close, his lips gradually moving against hers with increasing pressure and intensity, forcing her to open herself up to him again, refusing to let her keep him out. The other hand slid to wrap around her waist, holding her body securely against his.

He broke his lips from hers, trailing them across her right cheek, brushing a kiss on her temple, before bringing her earlobe gently into his mouth, scraping his teeth over it to whisper into her ear, "Don't, Leigh. Don't do this." She was about to turn to him and ask what he was talking about, which would have been futile because they both knew perfectly well what he meant. But he spoke before she could, his breath dancing across her ear, "You know that I want you. You _know_ that." he laid a gentle kiss under her ear and then another, trailing his lips down her neck. "_Relax_." he breathed against her skin, making her shiver. But she couldn't fight him anymore and it was with a flood of relief that he felt her muscles loosen as she melted into him

He trailed his lips down to the curve of her right shoulder, the side where she held her sword, biting the extremely lean but sharply defined muscle gently. Rory murmured silently, biting her lip. She shifted, rolling her head around to the left to give him more room. Her hands slid up into his unkempt hair, pulling gently at the thick blonde mess that seemed to stay up on it's own. Rory felt herself leaning back, exposing more of her skin above the low neckline of her dress, pulling Tristan along too. She didn't move her lower body, content with where it was, nestled so closely against him, only stretched her upper body, curving her spine back. He shifted beneath her, his lips not breaking from her skin as he kept his hands behind her while she tilted back. She relaxed against Tristan, allowing him to hold her up as his mouth continued to work over her shoulders. The hand that before had been tangled in her hair to keep her close now supported her head as she leaned back, his arm that had been wrapped around her waist was shifted, his warm palm was now pushed against her upper back, holding her up as she leaned out over the empty air. She could picture that hand, large and warm, his palm rough over certain areas. The back of his hand, like the rest of him, was tanned from the time he spent out in the sun, walking his kingdom and practicing sword fighting with his cousin, wrestling with his soldiers. He was physical, she'd always known that. He loved human touch, always keeping a hand on her when they were together. She'd even been told on numerous occasions that whenever he was in the city he played ball and raced with the children, sometimes with one of the smaller ones who would tire quickly or couldn't run fast enough riding on his back. All the time outdoors made his skin sun-kissed and all the physical work made him defined. His hands, even, were defined: the backs were threaded with prominent veins that continued to snake up his arms all around, cording his forearms so that she could run her fingers over the raised trails. Or at least that was what she wanted to do. Such defined veins in the hands and arms was a trait she'd only seen in men who were as cut and toned as their bodies could get. The strongest of them. Jess's arms were riddled with them. Logan had them as well, but not like Tristan.

Rory ran her hands through his hair, a contented sound escaping the back of her throat as Tristan's lips trailed down her shoulder to her collarbone, sweeping gentle kisses across it. She shivered when his chin scraped across the flat line below her collarbone, the stubble from his beard scratching her skin and warming her from the inside. He kissed his way back up her chest and neck to connect his lips fully to hers again, pulling her forward to sit up. She ran her fingers through his hair, scraping her fingernails over his scalp and down the back of his neck lightly. Tristan's reaction was instantaneous and powerful; his body did something between a shiver and a jerk, his muscles tensing beneath her as he swore savagely against her lips in a quiet exclamation she was sure he hadn't intended for her to hear. And that carnal part of her hummed with satisfaction as he crashed his mouth violently to hers, forcing her lips open with his own.

He must have felt the smug grin she tried to push back because in response the hand that was on the top of her spine slid down her back slowly, pressing into her lower back so that she was pushed harder against him. She gasped, her self-satisfaction draining as it was replaced with awe at what she'd done to him. He smirked against her mouth, his hand slipping over the curve of her side to grip her hipbone. He kissed her deeply, in that all-consuming way he sometimes did, as he used his grip on her hip to shift her lower body so that she was positioned slightly differently but unbelievably closer. She clenched her hands in his hair, returning his deep kiss with one of her own. Tristan's hands didn't stop at her hips. They trailed down her legs until he came to her knees where, without hesitation, he slid them up under her skirt to trail back up her thighs, this time against bare skin. Her breathing sped up and she felt her body heating up with every inch his hands gained on her skin. She had never. Never, ever been touched where Tristan's hands were traveling. She felt them move up the sides of her thighs until he came to the very tops of them, where he gripped her, kissing her harder as he pulled her down against him and held her there, as close as was humanly possible. She could feel him pushing hard against her. She raked her fingernails back down his scalp and over the back of his neck like she had before and was satisfied as his body once again jerked and a hiss escaped from between his clenched teeth. He gripped her thighs tighter, now holding her slightly away where before he had been pulling her close.

"Mmm." she muttered against his lips, protesting. She tried to think through her clouded daze, wanting to come up with another way to get that reaction from him. It was by far her favorite one. She didn't know what to do, but as always happened, her body moved without command from her mind. Her hands slid down his back, through his shirt's open neck. She reached halfway down his back, her fingertips slipping down lightly and she felt him shiver in appreciation. But when she brought her hands back up, it was to rake her blunt fingernails none too gently up the sides of his back. Even as she was running them up his back she felt the muscles jump and contract beneath her hands and this time he swore loudly. In one swift motion he'd broken his lips from hers and grabbed her, smoothly twisting around so that her back was on the cushioned bench and he was on top of her, one of her bare legs wrapped around his waist. He was heavy on top of her and so...._male_. There was a power to him, an innate strength that made her only want him closer.

Rory mewed softly, satisfied as Tristan crushed his lips violently to hers. She started to wrap her arms around his neck but her wrists were instantly in his steel hard grip and before she knew what had happened they were pinned above her head. "No." Tristan said, his voice shaking. He broke off, dropping his head to collect himself before speaking again. The muscles of his arms and back twitched randomly, as if his entire body were trying to jump into her but he was holding himself back. When he spoke again his voice was still slightly shaky and raw, "No. _You_ cannot use your hands if you aren't going to behave."

She opened her mouth, the carnal part of her reveling in his loss of control. But she had nothing to say and so she just raised her upper body without the use of her hands, kissing his neck slowly. She felt him shake. He said her name quietly, in warning. She just grinned, scraping her teeth over the junction of his shoulder and his neck before biting down sharp enough to make his body jerk. Or maybe that was for a different reason. Either way it worked and he released her hands, his lips once again meeting hers in a fierce explosion. One of his hands fell heavily to the cushion to push himself up, supporting his weight so it no longer rested on her. The other hand was already on the knee of the leg not wrapped around him, sliding up her thigh at a dangerous rate. She bit his lip languorously, raking her teeth over the sensitive skin and forcing an animalistic sound to bleed from the back of Tristan's throat before he slammed his lips into hers, all teeth and tongue and fighting each other for control. He gripped the back of her thigh hard enough to bruise and pulled her against him, adjusting her lower body to a new angle that sent delicious tingles up her spine. She felt herself shiver and whisper his name, tangling her fingers in his hair.

Without warning he broke away, ignoring the sound of protest she made. He buried his face into her shoulder, his breathing labored. Rory tried to shift her hips against his, wanting to convince him to bring his lips back to hers, but his hand slid around to grip the side of her thigh and hold her in place; not to push her away, she was still nestled against him, but to immobilize her.

His voice was quiet when he spoke, not raising his head, "You really should stop me." he whispered against her skin.

"Mmm." she kissed his neck lightly, "I know."

His breath escaped in a sigh before he inhaled deeply through his nose. He exhaled just as slowly, his breath warm against her skin. After a few moments of deep breathing he spoke, "Don't move...okay?"

She blinked in surprise, dropping her arms from around him, "Alright."

He took another moment to steel himself before releasing her leg and slowly letting it fall to the bench. Then he pushed himself up creakily, as if in pain, and pushed himself back to that he was kneeling in front of her. She propped herself up on her elbows, staring at him through clouded eyes. His hair and shirt were disheveled, his lips swollen to a shocking size and his face was pale and flushed at the same time. There was a red mark pulsing where she'd bitten him. And the look in his eyes made her stomach tighten all over again.

Rory glanced down at herself to see that her skirt was pushed up to the top of her thighs, and it wasn't until she saw how rapidly her chest was rising and falling that she realized how heavily she was breathing. She didn't imagine that she looked much better than him. She ran her tongue over her lips to realize that they were just as swollen as his. She could feel the heat and flush on her cheeks. Her dress was much too tight for the bodice to have been displaced but she was sure her hair was unsalvageable.

She allowed him another moment to even out his breathing and get control of himself before she asked him about her hair. He blinked as if having forgotten that she even had any and then she saw his eyes shift to the messy waves that tumbled around her. He laughed out loud, but not unkindly, before holding his hand out to her. She took it and he pulled her into a sitting position, holding her chin gently and turning her head so that he could reach behind her ear to pull out the string that held the braid in place. He slid it slowly from her hair and dropped it on the cushion between them before sliding his fingers up her hairline, pulling out the braid as he went. She was surprised at how gentle his hands were as he ruffled her hair, getting the braid untangled without pulling her hair. Once it was completely out he slid his hands through the loose locks and she closed her eyes, resting her forehead against his as his fingertips pressed against her scalp soothingly, sending tingles down her spine. She pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, opening her eyes to look at him, "Are you good?"

He laughed lightly, nodding, "Yeah." He brought his hand up to skim the back of it down the side of her neck, his forehead creased, "Sorry about that."

She looked up at him in confusion for a moment before realizing that she would be carrying around several bite marks from his ministrations. "Oh." she laughed lightly, waving a hand, "Everyone thinks we're having a torrid love affair anyway, so it isn't an issue."

His eyes clouded momentarily and a look of unmistakable guilt washed over him. She shifted closer, tilting her head in question. It was a moment before he spoke, his voice quiet, "I am sorry about that too. I didn't realize..."

Her mouth opened, surprised, "Oh, no, Tristan, I didn't....I was kidding." his eyebrow arched, unconvinced. She shrugged, touching his face gently, "I mean, not about what they're saying, but it doesn't bother me." she shook her head, "I don't care."

He blinked slowly, opening his mouth to speak but a knock on the door interrupted him. He glared over at the door but didn't make a move to answer it. He turned back to her but before he could speak the banging started again. Tristan swore under his breath, looking at her longingly for another moment, as if he wanted to say something but the time had passed. Another round of banging resounded through he room. Tristan sighed, his entire body deflating, "Go away, Paris!" he yelled towards the door and Rory laughed, kissing his cheek.

"What?" a girl spoke through the door, her tone clipped, "What was that, Tristan? Is someone laughing? Do you have a girl in there with you?"

"Go away." was all he said, sliding off the bench. Rory followed him, slipping her feet into her shoes and pressing the back of her hand against her lips, trying to push down the swelling.

"You do!" she cried, "You have a girl in there!"

Tristan turned to Rory and rolled his eyes. She grinned up at him, biting her lip, and his expression changed to one of disbelief, his eyes wide, "_No_." Her grin widened as she stepped towards the door and he lunged after her, "Leigh!" he whispered sharply, glowering as she danced inches out of his grasp, running for the door. He bolted after her but right before he reached her she'd gotten to the door and flung it open to reveal not one, but two blonde girls. The first, who only seemed to be a year or so older than herself, was severe looking with sharp brown eyes, thin lips, and dark golden hair that probably fell halfway down her back but at the moment was piled into a bun at the nape of her neck. Just behind her was a girl that looked closer to Tristan's age. Her hair was much fairer than the first girl's, a bright blonde that fell just past her shoulders in large, loping curls. She had bedroom eyes and at the moment looked unbelievably bored. Her eyes swept over Rory with disinterest before she looked into the room behind her.

As soon as the door was opened Tristan reached her, groaning. He shot Rory a dirty look and she just smile at him brightly before turning to the one in the front, presumably Paris.

"Hi, I'm Leigh."

The girl's sharp expression shifted, one eyebrow lifting. She looked surprised, her eyes widening, though Rory couldn't imagine why. Maybe she wasn't used to Tristan's bed mates being so cheeky. "Are you?" her eyes darted towards Tristan over Rory's shoulder.

"Uhm, yes." Rory answered slowly.

She opened her mouth to say something else but the girl behind her leaned into the doorway, "Wait. _You're_ Leigh?" she asked, amused.

She opened her mouth but it was Tristan's voice that rang out sharply, "Louise."

She glanced at him before looking back to Rory, shrugging one shoulder, "You're not what I expected."

Rory's eyebrow arched as she looked at the girl before her, "Excuse me?"

"I mean you're just _so_ different from the others. And from what I heard you're not _at all_ what I thought you'd be." she explained. Rory felt Tristan stiffen next to her. Louise smirked at him before dropping her gaze to Rory, "Of course, when Logan told us there was a woman trainer I didn't expect someone so..." she trailed off, glancing at Tristan as one eyebrow arched suggestively, "...feminine, I suppose." she looked back at Rory with a poisonous smile.

"Louise, shut _up_." that came from Paris, to Rory's surprise. She turned towards them, her gaze on Tristan for a moment before it slid hesitantly to the girl next to him, "I'm Paris and that's Louise, but you can ignore her."

"Hey, I was just pointing out facts."

"_Louise._" Tristan snapped again, stepping forward.

Rory touched his chest gently, "No, it's okay." he stopped, staring down at her in disbelief. She shrugged, throwing him a bright grin, "I have to go anyway. I told Logan I'd help him write up training schedules for when the men get back." Tristan's look told her he didn't believe her but he didn't say anything. She cut her eyes over to the two girls in front of them to see that both were staring at her hand on his chest as if they'd never seen one before, eyes wide and jaws sweeping the floor. She went on, looking back to Tristan, "So, I'm going to go help him with that before everyone else gets here, I guess, okay? So I'll see you later?" he nodded slowly and she could tell that he'd rather her stay but understood that she didn't want to deal with Louis and Paris and their staring.

"Alright." he leaned down, laying a light kiss on her lips, "I'll see you later tonight."

She smiled at him, biting her lip lightly before turning to Louise and Paris, stepping down the hall, "It was nice meeting you."

Louise was still staring at her, too surprised to respond. Paris, who could speak through her obvious shock, nodded back, "You too."

****

It didn't take her long to find Logan. He was outside with a girl who looked to be the same age as him; her skin was as pale as Rory's own usually was and raven black hair fell down her back in straight but full locks. She was wearing a light yellow dress, her shockingly girlish laughter carrying across the yard as Logan handed her a puppy from the same litter that Rory's dog had come from. She came towards them slowly, not sure if they were having a moment. But at her approach Logan turned and grinned hugely at catching sight of her, "Leigh!" he waved, beckoning her over. The girl twisted around, her bright gaze turned towards Rory.

"Hi." she smiled upon catching up to them.

"Hey." Logan nodded towards the girl next to him, "Leigh this is Madeline. Maddy, this is Leigh, one of our trainers."

She looked Rory over with open curiosity, not judgement like her two friends had. She tilted her head after a moment, her dark hair swirling in the light wind, "He was right. You are beautiful."

Rory laughed, rolling her eyes as she turned to the blonde between them, "Logan, what have you been telling?"

He opened his mouth uncertainly, torn between amusement and confusion, as if he knew what he wanted to say, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Madeline rescued him, "It wasn't Logan." was all she said.

Rory's gaze snapped over to her, surprised. She just smiled lightly, shifting the small dog in her hands. "You are different though, than the others. I can tell. He wasn't lying about that one either."

"Maddy." Logan chastised, wrapping an arm around her, "There is something to be said for tact, love, and you aren't gifted in it."

Her eyes widened, her mouth opening slightly as she looked over at Rory, genuinely surprised, "Oh, I'm sorry, am I making you uncomfortable? I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. I won't say anything else about what Tristan has said. I promise."

Logan groaned, slapping his hand to his forehead, "Madeline, Madeline, Madeline."

"_Whaaat_?" she whined, looking over at Rory when Logan refused to raise his head from his palm.

Rory felt herself smile, watching the two of them interact. Tristan had been right. She would like Madeline. She shook her head lightly, "Nothing, it's alright."

The puppy in Madeline's hands yipped, reaching up to lick her arm. She bounced it, smiling now, "Okay, I really am sorry. I won't say anything else." she nudge Logan in the ribcage hard enough to make him grunt, "See, Logan? Did you see that? We made up without you. You can come out now." Rory laughed and Logan dropped his hand from his face, giving Madeline a dirty look. She scrunched her nose at him playfully before turning back to Rory, "It's very nice to meet you Leigh."

She nodded, smiling, "You too, Madeline."

Logan looked up towards the castle, "Did you meet Paris yet?"

"Yes, I met her and Louise."

"At the same time?"

She laughed, "Yes."

Logan's eyebrow arched as he reached out and grabbed her hand, lifting it above her head to twirl her in a circle, "You don't look too injured."

"They weren't so bad."

Her comment was followed by complete silence. Logan and Madeline both stared at her blankly for a moment before looking at each other and erupting into laughter. Rory opened her mouth, but said nothing, closing it and leaning back on her heels. Logan threw an arm around her shoulders, "Oh Leigh, you shouldn't try to be sweet. It confuses me. It's so uncharacteristic." She rolled her eyes, elbowing him like Madeline had. He grunted again and the raven haired girl burst into a second bout of laughter. Logan glared at her with mock anger, "Cruel." he snapped, "Ganging up on me." he tsk-ed at the two girls.

Rory smiled up at him innocently, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder, "Actually, I am being sweet. I came out here to help you."

"Oh yeah, you're doing a wonderful job."

She laughed, shaking her head, "No. I was coming to help you write up training schedules for next week. I thought we could get it out of the way now."

"Oh, yeah." he nodded thoughtfully, "Madeline, do you want to come with us?" She nodded and followed them, toting the puppy with her as they led her up to the castle and in through the military wing entrance.

They came to one of the largest training rooms and Logan grabbed several stretches of paper, a quill, and a bottle of ink before joining Rory at the center of the room, sitting next to her on the stone floor. Madeline sat with them part of the time, looking at the lists and drawings they laid out and wrote down, asking about some of them. She played with the dog in her arms, once losing control of it and it ran to Rory, jumping in her lap and attacking her hair, chewing on it like a toy. Logan laughed, nearly rolling on the floor....until Rory pulled the dog off and tossed it at him. He caught it reflexively, his face changing as he realized she'd thrown it in close proximity to his own hair. He swore loudly as the puppy snapped at his head and got a hold of the blonde locks. The two girls laughed as he grappled with a seven pound dog.

They weren't in the room long before the puppy fell asleep in Madeline's arms. She was looking around the room with a restless curiosity and Rory got the feeling that Madeline couldn't stay still for long. She held her hands out and Madeline beamed, handing him to Rory and standing up. The dog shifted slightly but went right back to sleep. And Madeline moved around the room, looking at the various hand held weapons ringing the walls. Swords and daggers and knives. Crossbows and long bows, throwing knives and throwing axes. Spears and maces and axes.

Logan glanced up at her every few minutes, "Don't touch anything sharp." he called out finally.

"Uh-huh." she waved a hand at him, "Write up your training schedule."

He shot Rory a look and she shrugged, turning back to the paper between them. They wrote out workouts and schedules for a little longer before Madeline's voice, coupled with the sound of metal dragging, broke their concentration, "Ooooh." she crooned excitedly, "What is this?" she turned to them and both of their heads shot up to see that she was awkwardly holding a solid wooden pole a little shorter than her arm, the top rounding out into a ball twice as large as a fist. A large metal spike protruded from the top of the ball and more metal barbs were scattered all over the ball, tapered to wicked looking points. "Augh, this is heavy." she observed, not able to pick it up very high.

Logan jumped to his feet quicker than Rory had ever seen him move, "_Aehh_, Madeline." he approached her cautiously, not wanting to startle her and make her drop it, "That would be a Morning Star." as soon as he was close to her he reached out with one hand, grabbing it towards he head to slide it from her grip. He easily picked it up one-handed, where as Madeline hadn't been able to get it with two. "Very dangerous. Very _sharp_." he gave her a look.

She smiled innocently, her eyes wide, "It didn't look that sharp."

His eyebrow arched and he motioned to the viciously pointed fingers of metal all over it. "No?"

She shrugged, still amused, "Well, they're baby spikes, really. And the big one at the top didn't look that bad."

Logan blinked slowly, in disbelief, "_Baby spikes_?" he said airily, turning towards Rory, who watched the exchange with a grin. He motioned towards the weapon in his hand, "Baby spike, Leigh."

She nodded, "Well yes, they are much smaller than the rest of the spikes we have." she looked over at Madeline, playing along to torturing Logan, "So really, yes, I guess they would be baby spikes."

"Huh." he looked between the two girls distrustingly before setting the Morning Star back in its place. "You." he pointed towards Madeline, "Behave. And you." he pointed to Rory as he came back to sit with her, "Not cute."

She glanced up to Madeline who was watching them, biting her lip to hide a smile. Rory snickered lightly, turning back to the work between her and Logan.

****

By the time she finished with Logan it was evening. There was only one more close call where Logan had to potentially save Madeline's life. She'd picked up a mace, twirling it between her hands to watch it twist. In her defense it wasn't exactly sharp, but the bludgeoning weapon twirling through the air to close to his friend's head had made Logan turn an unhealthy shade of green.

Now she walked slowly towards the very back of the castle, in the direction of the kitchen. She hadn't seen Marty in several days and wanted to tell him about what Logan had said while they were camping. Not all of it, of course, and she certainly didn't want to divulge what had happened earlier that afternoon, but just to try to convince him that he was wrong about Tristan.

When she came to the kitchen, however, she didn't see Marty. But there was someone else she'd never seen before standing with Sookie. He looked to be Tristan's age, maybe a year older. He was tall, with extremely messy hair a darker brown than hers sticking up in all directions. His face was angular, his features striking and his eyes shining, but at the moment it looked as if flour and another, dark red food were smeared on parts of his face. He moved with a pent up energy, seeming to be jumping up constantly. He was talking loudly to the entire kitchen, telling them about how amazing he was at cooking as they went along with their tasks, amused by him but not distracted. Sookie stood next to him, laughing as she "helped" him to make something in a large metal bowl on the counter in front of them. From what Rory could see Sookie was doing everything and his contribution was to grab containers around them, which Sookie had most likely pre-measured, and throw the ingredients in with a flourish while the castle's cook stirred. His clothes were obviously expensive, tailored to fit him perfectly. He had an apron on, new smears in so many colors that Rory couldn't imagine it was all from cooking. She glanced around to see that one of the girls on the other side of the kitchen, who kept casting lusty glances at him, had the same red stuff in her hair that was on his face. It was smeared across her apron in a splattered pattern, as if he'd thrown it at her, which, watching him now, Rory didn't doubt. She guessed that was probably what the many-colored smears on his apron were from.

He reached over to dip his finger in the bowl and Sookie smacked his hand with her large wooden spoon. "Oooh. Feisty." he smirked down at her, bringing his finger, now coated with a thick yellow sauce somewhere between a liquid and a solid, to his mouth and licked it. Judging from his accent he was from Gildren.

Sookie rolled her eyes at the young man before her, "Don't stick your fingers in the food."

"But love, I'm just such a gifted creator of substances consumed for nutrition and pleasure! I positively cannot contain myself. Really, if you tried it you would understand." her eyebrows arched and he shot her a devilish grin, holding his hands up and wiggling his fingers, "I solemnly swear they've been nowhere indecent such as would corrupt this bountiful feast of pleasure we are creating in this wee little bowl." he reached around her again but she smacked his hand away. He pulled his hand back and gave her a smoldering look that Rory was sure usually got him whatever he wanted.

But it didn't work on Sookie. She laughed, obviously entertained, but was insusceptible to his charms. "Finnegan Morgan." she pointed her spoon, covered in the thick yellow sauce, "You will _not_ turn my kitchen into a circus or a brothel."

He fixed her with a wounded stare, all except for his eyes, which still glittered with wicked amusement, "But Sookie, kitten, I can't help it if women fall at my feet and people stop and stare in amazement at my very presence." he wrapped his long arm around her, pulling her close to his side.

She pushed him away, laughing, "Try it on an unmarried woman twenty years younger than me, Finn."

Rory laughed from the door and Finn turned around sharply, his ears pricked. He smiled widely at her, his interest piqued, beckoning her forward, "You. Try this."

Her eyebrow arched and she leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest, "Excuse me?"

His grin widened, obviously pleased with her refusal to cooperate, "What I meant, love, was come try this delicious custard and tell me if you think it is positively the most heavenly thing that has graced your lips." his eyebrow quirked as he grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the bowl, "_Yet_."

Rory laughed, her head falling back, and walked into the kitchen, pulling up a stool to sit across from them, "Hey Sookie."

She smiled warmly, "Hey Leigh, how are you?"

Finn gasped, his jaw dropping. Rory looked over at him, confused. He was grinning so widely she thought his face might split. "Leigh?" he said in delight, as if she'd brought him a gift, "_The_ Leigh? Beer and bedsheets, love, why didn't you say so?" he looked more excited now than he had when he'd been flirting with her. He held the spoon out, "First, give this a bite. It's lovely, if I do say so myself."

She laughed, taking the spoon from him, "Thank you." by now she wasn't shocked by his reaction to her considering it was the fourth time around she'd had one of Logan and Tristan's friends stare at her and repeat her name several times. She licked the spoon and looked up at them, "Mhmm yes, it's delicious Sookie."

Finn grabbed his chest as if his heart hurt, "Come again, love? I've slaved over the stove and you compliment the woman?"

Rory laughed at him, "I'm sure you were fabulous moral support too."

His face broke into a grin, apparently satisfied with that, and pulled off his apron before coming around the counter to stand next to her, sweeping into a low bow, "I am Finnegan Morgan; Prince of Gildren, corrupter of maidens, maestro of pleasure throughout the realm, master chef, and closest friend of Tristan." he laid a light kiss on the back of her palm, meeting her amused gaze with his own wickedly glinting one, "And I must say I most enthusiastically approve." She laughed and he continued, leaning towards her and whispering conspiratorially, "That being said, I would like you to remember that if you ever tire of my dear friend, Finney's bed is always open to a lonely maiden."

Rory grinned, knowing that he wasn't serious. But she leaned forward as well so that their faces were close. His expression brightened. Her lip quirked as she whispered, "You have flour all over your face."

He gasped in mock shame, "Lord, I am completely out of countenance!" he twisted around, "Sookie, love, a towel, please, if I may?" the cook rolled her eyes and tossed him a damp towel. He turned back around and grinned at Rory, holding it out to her. "I would do it myself, but there's no glass to see my pretty face." She rolled her eyes, shaking her head lightly as she took the towel from him and started wiping off his face. He grinned, closing his eyes and humming contentedly. Every few seconds muttering, "Oh yes." or "Right there." or "Again please."

Finally, her sides splitting in laughter, Rory punched his shoulder lightly, "Stop it."

He opened his eyes, looking at her innocently, "I'm sorry, did I say something?"

Rory sighed, clicking her tongue as she tossed the towel on the counter, "You're clean."

Finn laughed out loud, "You are quite mistaken." he grabbed her hand, "But I have somewhere to deliver you. Come love, come."

Rory looked up at him, "I'm not sure I trust you to take me anywhere."

He grinned at her, "Smart woman. But don't worry, I love my gorgeous face the way it is. I wouldn't want Tristan to rearrange it." he pulled her from the chair and dragged her out of the kitchen, waving to Sookie on their way out. He continued in the corridor, "However, if that weren't a threat, you should have been extremely smart not to come." he flashed her a devastating smile and Rory had the inkling that he spoke this way to anyone of the female variety.

"Where are we going?" she asked, following him, but she wasn't sure why.

He tsk-ed her, "Patience, patience." But it wasn't long before they reached one of the lounging rooms in the residential part of the castle where most of the bedrooms were. She heard laughter and shouting from behind one of the closed doors and that was the one that he pushed open, pulling her in with him, "Look what I found!" he called proudly.

Everyone inside looked up, though the laughter didn't cease, most of them called greetings to her. Tristan and Logan called to her, of course. Madeline greeted her warmly, waving from her spot next to a light haired girl Rory hadn't seen. Paris waved politely and Louise wiggled her fingers in greeting. Other than the girl next to Madeline there were two dark haired young men she hadn't met. She could pick which was which, though. Henry was obvious because of his Koralean descent. The other must have been Colin.

Finn motioned around the room, pulling her in and closing the door behind them. "Leigh this is Madeline and Stephanie and Paris and Henry and Louise and Colin. Everyone this is Leigh the Magnificent."

Stephanie, Henry, and Colin all waved to her in greeting and she smiled back at them. The laughter and talking started back up and Finn dragged her across the room but he hadn't gotten halfway to the other side when Tristan called, "Get your filthy hands off of my trainer, Finn." his voice was light, laughter underlying it. But when Rory looked over at him she saw that although he said it jokingly, he meant it.

Finn, unruffled, shot his friend a disappointed look, "Fine." he pulled her over to one of the couches, "I'll just sit her here with Colin where her virtue won't be in any danger."

The dark haired young man in question shot up, "Hey!" Colin broke off and grinned over at Rory as Finn dropped her next to him on the couch, "Hello."

She smiled back politely, "Hi."

He turned back to Finn, "Watch your tongue on foreign land, you filthy barbarian."

Finn smirked, shaking his head lightly, "You're just calling me that to get on my good side."

***************

Rory was woken the next morning by sunlight slanting through her window, falling across her face. She stirred, turning over to burrow deeper into the covers and hide her face from the light. Judging by the position of the light through the windows it was late morning, maybe even early afternoon. Last night she'd stayed in the lounge room with Tristan, Logan, and all their friends until early in the morning. Now it was all a blur of laughing and goading each other and the others reminiscing about when they were little. Madeline, Stephanie, and Finn took to her instantly. Colin liked her also, but she didn't think as much as the other three. Henry like her well enough but she didn't see them ever being great friends. Louise had warmed up to her some, but she still seemed to think Rory was below real consideration, only one of Tristan's conquests, and Paris was still suspicious of her. She guessed she couldn't blame Paris. It must have been hard to watch someone you'd grown up with hurt himself over and over like Tristan did, touching everyone but never letting anyone in. Not to mention that he was the king so Paris probably assumed she had nefarious intentions.

She yawned, groaning lightly as she buried her face into one of her pillows. Several of them had been sopping drunk. Namely Finn and Colin. Well, mainly Finn. He'd spent most of the night propositioning each of the females in the room. Over and over. Finally he stopped doing it to her when Tristan had told him to piss off. The other four girls didn't get a reprieve though. Madeline and Stephanie had become delirious, laughing at everything and falling over each other, they would keep starting stories and conversations without finishing, their words slurring. Sometime during the middle of the night Logan and Louise had disappeared, returning several hours later. Rory hadn't drank any, and neither had Paris, and so naturally they mainly talked to each other.

And several hours of talking to her had made Rory realize that she and Paris probably could have been wonderful friends under different circumstances. Paris was naturally distrusting and she was really the only one who seemed not to trust Rory. The others liked her, except for Louise who pretended she was just an amusing little servant. She could tell that her intelligence and ease around so many people of higher birth than her surprised Paris and she'd made some off-handed comment about how that was probably why Tristan liked her so much. She and Paris also spent a lot of the night with Colin and Tristan, who hadn't really drank less than the others, but were better at controlling themselves.

The sky had been lightening when Tristan walked her to her room that morning, the sun not yet rising but on it's way. He'd walked her to her room, tracing his fingers lightly up her arm in a stupor of alcohol and tiredness. Once they'd reached the door she'd turned to face him, nearly falling over with fatigue, but he'd caught her before she fell, shockingly given how drunk she'd thought he was. They'd both laughed, delirious with exhaustion. She'd been surprised that he hadn't invited himself inside, but considering how tired they both were it made sense. He'd just leaned down, kissing her slowly, his lips and tongue still stinging of strong mead, before pulling away and bidding her goodnight. Getting her tightly corseted dress and slip off on her own had been a hassle but as soon as she'd hit the bed she'd been sleep.

Rory groaned again, rolling over and sitting up, stretching. "Nice of you to finally join the living." Anna snapped from across the room, mending a rip in one of her dresses while Duke dozed at her feet.

"How late is it?" she asked, slipping out of the bed. Her nightgown fell to the floor, sweeping across it as she shivered at the cold stone.

"Well you slept the morning away." she said crossly, watching as Rory came across the room to pick up the sleeping puppy. He whimpered, rearranging himself in her arms and burying his face in the crook of her elbow before he resumed snoring softly. Once he was settled Anna went on, "And you nearly might as well not have gotten up. It's the middle of the afternoon." she nodded towards Rory's armoire, "Your tea is stone cold."

Rory made a face at that, "I could always just not drink it."

Anna actually laughed at that, though she didn't really sound amused, "Now, of all times. You are drinking that."

"What do you mean, now of all times?"

The old maid fixed her with a look, staring at her as if that was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard Rory say, "I know everything that goes on in this household, Leigh." Rory opened her mouth, wanting to protest, but then she closed it, biting her bottom lip. She sighed in defeat, walking towards the dresser and Anna smiled in satisfaction, "Now, drink up. I want to wash your hair."

Rory's nose scrunched, partly from the tea and partly from Anna's words, "Why? It was just washed yesterday."

Anna nodded, "Yes, that's true. But you need to look your best today." Rory looked at her, lost for a moment, before she remembered Max telling her weeks ago that Tristan's friends would arrive the day before the anniversary of his father's death....which would make that today. She opened her mouth to say something about it but Anna cut her off, "Tristan likes your hair down best, I'm sure, so that's how we'll so it." she stood, "I brought water in this morning but since only your hair is getting wet there's no need to heat it." Rory thought that there most definitely _was_ a need to warm it, but she didn't voice it, knowing that it would just take longer that way.

She set the dog on the foot of her bed before laying on the ground where Anna motioned, two large buckets of water rested on the ground and she laid with the first behind her head and propped herself up on her elbows, leaning her head back until she felt the freezing water touch her scalp. Mercifully Anna worked quickly, working soap through her hair until it was lathered and then rinsing it, using the second bucket to get all the soap out when the first bucket became saturated with it. Rory sat up and Anna wrapped a towel around her hair to help her dry it before she motioned Rory behind the changing screen.

Today, of all days, Rory decided to be docile and easy. She knew that Anna had practically raised both Tristan and his father. She couldn't imagine that today would be easy for Anna. She rubbed the towel through her hair before handing it to Anna and slipping behind the screen. She missed her own family, of course, but she felt as if she'd dealt with their deaths. It had been ten years so by now it was just part of her life, part of who she was. It still hurt, but usually she could think of it without excruciating pain. Sometimes without any pain at all. But she'd been able to deal with it. Jess or Rachel had always been there for her to cry on or yell at, many a time Jess had been her punching bag, giving her an outlet for her inexpressible anger when they were young adolescents. Even at that, she'd dealt with it, come to terms with it. She didn't see how Tristan could have. She doubted he had anyone to talk to about it, to take his own anger out on. How could he have moved on, when he didn't even know why his father was dead? She knew, realistically, that she shouldn't have felt sorry for him given that he was the one who had taken her own family away from her. But really it was that she could empathize with him. Tristan's father had been his family, not his mother. And she knew how it felt to lose your family. So even though a part of her hated it, she still felt for him. Still didn't want him to hurt.

She pulled the slip over her head, today it was a corseted one with a low square cut neckline and thin straps holding it up. It fell just above her knees. Anna came around the screen to lace it up, not tying it as tight as she had the day before. It still squeezed her in and accented her hips, pushing up her chest, but she could breathe easier. Anna then helped her into the cap sleeved light blue dress with white stitching and soft lace that was hanging behind the screen. The bodice of this one was tight as well to her hips where the skirt flared out full and flowing to the ground. It's square neckline was low for her, but not nearly so revealing as a lot of women wore. Anna adjusted the dress before lacing it up the back tightly. She then led Rory around to sit at the vanity and picked the towel up again, running it through her hair to pull out the excess water. She pulled at sections of Rory's damp hair, twirling them tightly around her fingers so that her natural waves were almost curls.

Once Rory's hair was dry Anna looked at her, opening her mouth as if she wanted to say something, but couldn't bring herself to. She looked up at the old woman, confused, "What's wrong?"

Anna sighed, leaning against the vanity. She looked tired, at a loss for words. Rory didn't think she'd ever seen her look so....human. The old woman looked up at her and for the first time Rory realized how tired she must be. She'd always thought of Anna as old, but never as deteriorating or worn-out. It was a moment before she spoke, her voice scratchy, "You really are beautiful, Leigh, and I know I haven't been the most welcoming, but..." she trailed off, sighing, "Tristan actually cares for you. More than I've seen him care for anyone in years. I wasn't sure of you at first, but the more I see him with you the more I realize...." she broke off again, stopping herself. "I thought at first that you were only entertaining him because he's the king but now I realize that isn't it." she stared at the young woman scrutinizingly, her expression shifting back to it's normal scowl. The physical weakness that Rory had seen moments ago was gone, "I just wanted to say that I misread you in the beginning. Now go on." she motioned towards the door, dismissing Rory.

She pushed herself out of the chair, confused and thrown off and shocked by Anna's erratic behavior. Her stomach growled once she left the room so she headed in the direction of the informal dining hall where the occupants of the castle ate their everyday meals. When she entered she was surprised to see that the table was rimmed with nearly everyone from last night, all looking as if they'd just woken up as well. Stephanie's head was on the table, breathing deeply as if she were asleep. Madeline was holding her temples, squinting and complaining about how bright the sun was. Rory looked around the room. The sun really wasn't bright in here at all. Colin was staring at the plate of food in front of him as if he were going to be ill; Louise was drinking water, a hand on her forehead and her cheeks red. Logan was sprawled out in his chair, looking ruffled and tired. Paris and Henry were more alert and far less hungover than the others, talking quietly at the end of the table. Tristan was missing.

Everyone was bleary-eyed and silent. Except for Finn, who brightened when she entered the room, "Love!" he called, sitting up from his place at the head of the table. Everyone present cringed and then in a wave of annoyance nearly all of them shouted at him to shut up. She smiled and waved a hand at him, too afraid to speak in this breakfast party. He beckoned her over, patting the chair next to him. He didn't seem put out by having five people scream at him at once, but Rory doubted that anything at all really bothered him. She took the seat next to him and his grin widened, "How did you sleep?" he asked, taking a long pull from his drink.

"Pretty well." she looked around the table at the others who looked like the living dead and then back at Finn, who was chipper and bright. She looked at him for a moment, sniffing, "Finn." she looked at the cup in his hand, "Are you drinking already?"

He shot her a grin over the rim of his cup, "Keeps the headaches away." he took a long drink before holding it out to her, "Would you like a nip?"

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. She was about to speak when two more chairs were pulled up close to them and Paris and Henry sat down heavily. She looked over at them, "Hi."

Henry nodded, smiling, "Good morning."

Finn shook his head, "It's not morning, mate. It's afternoon. Like, not even early afternoon."

Paris narrowed one eye at Finn and when he turned to look at her he jumped back in surprise, "_Euhh!_" he made a cross with his index fingers and held it in front of him, "That's not natural, Paris love." he stared at her twitching eye and grimaced, clicking his teeth, "Erm." he flexed his fingers, pulling them back so that they were no longer close to her, "Yes, anyway, as we were saying." he looked to the other two.

Rory and Henry laughed as Paris's eye returned to it's normal size and she turned back to Rory, "As we were saying, hello."

Rory nodded, "Hi."

Finn grinned widely, "Hello–"

Paris cut him off, "Not you." Finn's face fell and he pouted his lips, 'humph'-ing under his breath as he brought his drink back up to his lips.

"Leigh, we wanted to talk to you about Tristan."

She nodded, "Where is he?"

Paris sighed, biting her bottom lip, "Well that's the problem. He came through here early this afternoon on his way to the cellar. Henry and I tried to talk to him but he ignored us." she pressed her lips together, "He came back through here with a few bottles of alcohol and then locked himself in his room." she shook her head helplessly, "We've been trying all afternoon to get him to come out, or to let one of us in. But he just yells at us to go away and throws things at the door."

Rory shook her head lightly, "And what do you want me to do?"

Paris shrugged and Rory could see that it caused her pain to have to ask a stranger for help with someone she cared for so much, "He let you in yesterday, didn't he?"

"Yes." she said quietly.

Paris looked down at her hands, pressing the palms together slowly, "He locked the rest of us out." Rory watched her, uncertain of what to say. Sorry? She wasn't, and she didn't think it would help anyway. She could see that it clearly hurt Paris to have her friend let Rory, or 'Leigh', in, a girl he'd only known for a few months when he shut out the people he'd known for years.

Rory looked around the table to see that they were all now looking at her. She hadn't even realized that the others had been paying attention. She turned back to Paris, speaking quietly, "He wouldn't let any of you in today?"

She shook her head, whispering as well, "Not even Logan."

Rory looked down at her hands, drawing her eyebrows together as her cheeks burned, uncertain of what to do with all of them staring at her. She pitied Tristan for his situation, she did. But now that she was looking at it, now that she was actually faced with it, she didn't think that she could comfort him on the day his father died. Didn't think she really had it in her. She licked her lips before pressing them together, squinting her eyes at the table, still speaking quietly enough that only Paris, Finn, and Henry could hear her, "I think you should try again. If he doesn't come out then I'll see if I can get in." Paris didn't answer at first and after a moment Rory looked up to see that her eyes narrowed as if she'd let her down, as if everything that she'd suspected about Rory had been right all along. "Don't look at me like that." she snapped.

Paris blinked, surprised, "What?"

Rory shook her head, "Don't look at me like that. I know you hate this whole situation, I know you don't like the way he and I are, but what do you want from me? Yes, he let me in yesterday but that doesn't mean he's going to do it again and you glaring at me like I'm using him or like I betrayed someone isn't helping the situation. Stop acting like I have wicked motives and goals. I'm not using him, I'm not faking it, and I don't want to take anyone's place so _stop_ looking at me like I'm a thief." Paris stared at her in silence, speechless. Rory sighed, deflating. She bit her lip, shaking her head lightly, "I do care about him, Paris. But I don't know that he'll let me in."

**

And that was how, several hours later, Rory found herself standing outside of Tristan's door, staring at the dark wood. Paris had come to her and asked her to make good on her offer. She, Logan, Finn, Colin, and Stephanie had all tried to get him to either come out or let them in, even talk to them through the door. But nothing. Paris's confidence that he would let Rory in had faded, but she still wanted her to try. And because she'd promised, because she wanted him to talk to her; because she _cared_, disturbingly enough, she now stood at his door, plucking up her courage to knock. She hadn't been in his room since the night Brad have shoved her in, the second day she'd been in the castle. That trip hadn't ended well. Tristan hadn't looked at her for weeks after. She ran her hands over the smooth wood, resting her forehead against it for a moment before knocking quietly.

She heard him sigh and then call through the door, "Go _away_, already."

"Tristan." she said, loudly enough for him to hear, her face inches from the door, "Tristan open the door."

He didn't answer at first and she didn't hear movement anymore. There was a stretch of silence so long she wondered if he'd gone to another room. Finally he spoke through the door, his voice empty, "What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you." she heard a note of trembling in her voice and bit her lip, trying to push it down. She wondered briefly how drunk he was.

"Really this time, what do you want?" there was an acidic snap to his voice.

Her head cocked up, moving closer to the door. He sounded like he was just on the other side, "That _is_ what I want." he didn't say anything and she sighed, looking down, "Tristan, please. Open the door."

"What, no one else could get in so they finally sent you?" he asked, and she was sure this time that he was right on the other side. When he spoke next there was a note of bitter amusement in his voice, "That's smart. Low, but smart."

"_Tristan_." she snapped, pounding her open palm on the door, "Open up."

"_No_." he snapped back and she heard him walk away.

"You have it all wrong, Tristan." she yelled through the door, banging her hand on it again. It stung her palm but she didn't stop. "_Tristan!_"

"_What?_" She gasped, staggering forward as the door was suddenly flung open. He stood before her, his hair sticking up in all directions; he was shirtless. Rough cotton pants hung low on his hips and he still hadn't shaved, his wheat colored stubble now visible against his tanned skin. He stared at her, his expression unreadable. He wasn't angry, exactly, but it was close. He held a bottle in one hand; she could smell the alcohol on his breath. She opened her mouth to speak but her gaze was drawn down to his bare chest and her breath hitched. She'd never seen him without a shirt on. The skin of his chest was as smooth and as tanned as his arms; his chest and abdomen, which she'd felt before but never seen, were just as prominent and defined as she'd imagined. Without his shirt on she saw how broad his chest really was, the muscles clearly visible and smooth. His stomach was rippled with muscles, feeling it before had made her think of a washboard and now she found that she'd been right to make the comparison. Her gaze swept back up, running over his shoulders and arms for a moment, taking in the broad muscles and arms that flowed together so perfectly she had to take a moment to catch her breath. His entire body was ripped with defined and muscles rather than pure bulk. She could almost feel his warm skin under her hands, against her lips.

Her gaze snapped to his face to see that he was leaning one arm against the doorframe, blocking the entrance as he watched her, his lip quirked in self-satisfied amusement, "See something you like?" she glared at him and he just smirked wider, "Your mouth is sill open." She shot him a dirty look, pushing his arm out of the way and coming into the room. It looked the same as she remembered, a comfortable looking couch, a large cushioned chair, a table and some books. A fireplace. And five doors leading to other rooms. Tristan turned, not following her inside but staying in the doorway. His voice was empty when he spoke, the amusement gone, "What do you want Leigh?"

She turned around, "I told you."

He shook his head, his voice bitter, "Leigh, Paris has probably tried to get in here five times. Finn and Logan too. They've sent Colin and Stephanie multiple times. Louise, Madeline, and Henry have all had a go at it. Don't pretend that you came here on your own. They sent you."

Rory bit her lip, exhaling quietly, "I didn't think you'd let me in."

"That's shit and you know it." he snapped. She froze, staring at him. He shook his head, "You knew perfectly well that I'd let you in, Leigh, so don't even try that one."

She looked at him across the room, running her hands through her hair nervously, "I don't–" she broke off, looking away from him, "You've known them for your entire life, Tristan. I didn't want to throw it in their faces."

He shook his head, "Throw what in their faces?"

She looked back to him, speaking quietly, "The fact that you would let me in when you wouldn't do it for them."

Tristan exhaled heavily, kicking the door shut as he came further into the room, "Now _that_ I believe, even if I think your reasoning is off." he collapsed on the couch, his anger gone to be replaced with the arrogant, languorous air he'd taken on when she was staring at his body. He took a long drink from the bottle in his hand before leaning his head back and closing his eyes, "But I'm not in the mood to talk right now, so unless you've come with a different form of entertainment planned...." he motioned with the bottle, not opening his eyes, "The door is there."

Instead of going to the door she walked over to him and grabbed the bottle, pulling it from his grip, "You shouldn't be drinking again."

He looked up at her, "Give it back."

"No." she leaned over to set it on the table, out of his reach, "You're drunk."

He looked up at her for a moment, his egotistical attitude fading. His voice was quiet when he spoke, wanting her to believe him, "I'm not drunk, Leigh."

She looked down at him, surprised by how soft his voice was, how different from how it has sounded only moments ago. She didn't take her eyes off of him as she stepped closer, kneeling in front of the couch between his outstretched knees, her hands on top of his legs to keep her balance. She stared into his clear eyes and he looked back at her with as much intelligence as he always did. Rory was silent for a moment, caught up by his focused gaze. "You aren't, are you?" she said gently, surprised.

He shook his head, sitting up straighter to bring himself closer to her, "No."

She had to lean her head back now to look up at him and she was about to speak but the words were cut off in her throat as he reached forward, brushing her hair back from her face. Her automatic reaction was to close her eyes but she fought it, not wanting to look away from him. She watched Tristan as he swallowed hard, tracing his fingers over the contours of her face, his expression torn between pulling away and bringing her closer. She brought her hands up to wrap around his wrists, holding his hands securely where they were, against her skin. She felt him shudder gently before leaning down, capturing her lips against his.

He kissed her slowly at first, sliding his fingers over the sensitive skin of her face and the line of her jaw, down through her hair. When his hands reached the tips of her hair they slid to her back, moving slowly up until they were tangled in her hair at her scalp. Tristan kissed her deeper, pulling her head upward gently, coaxing her to move. She climbed from the floor up into his lap without breaking her lips from his, giving him what he wanted. She straddled him, her hands coming to wrap around the back of his neck, her fingers in his hair at the nape of his neck.

His tongue swept over the line of her lips, parting them, and she opened her mouth wider for him. His hands were at the back of her head, tangled in her hair and keeping her head tilted slightly so that their lips connected smoothly. He kissed her deeply, his tongue sweeping against hers, his full lips against hers and his teeth scraping the sensitive skin around her mouth and the inside of her lips. Rory pulled his bottom lip between her teeth, sucking on it gently; she grinned against him at the guttural sound that escaped from the back of his throat as she slowly released his lip, scraping her teeth over it with a pressure that she was sure bordered on pain. As soon as she released his lip his mouth was on hers, harder than before.

His right hand moved, releasing its grip on her hair but the other held firm. His free hand slid down the natural path of her face, trailing under her ear and down the line of her jaw, his fingers brushing the side of her face. He moved it slowly down her neck, pressing against the smooth skin of her pulse, running along her collarbone. Her hands slid from his neck to clench his bare shoulders, pulling him closer. The formal dresses she was given to wear when in the company of nobles or for specific events, as the one she had on now, always exposed more of her chest than the ones she wore everyday. And Tristan took full advantage of it, running his fingertips across her collarbone before scraping them languorously down her breastbone. His fingers brushed against the top of her breast, made more prominent by the corsets she'd been forces into. The pressure of his fingers immediately decreased, tracing over the swell of her breasts just visible over the neckline of her dress. She inhaled shakily through her nose, pressing her lips harder against his. Her left hand released its grip on his shoulder and jerked down to grab his upper arm, clenching the biceps controlling the hand that was sliding across her body. She gripped his arm, feeling the muscle like she never had before, skin on skin. She was momentarily caught off guard by how large and defined it was. She always forgot how solid he was, how powerful, and every time she touched him it was like realizing it for the first time. She tightened her grip on his shoulder as well, eyes still closed but able to picture the broad, solid planes and lines of his muscled shoulders.

But her reflection didn't last any longer because his fingers dipped lower, pressing just under the neckline of her dress. She broke her lips from his but only barely, moving them far enough that they were no longer pressed against his so that she could breathe, with hadn't been an option when his lips and hands both assaulted her. She kept her eyes closed, her forehead touching his lightly. Their breath mixed in the fraction of an inch between their mouths; when she exhaled in shaking breaths her lips brushed against his, not in a kiss, but a touch. She could feel her chest rising and falling heavily and she bit her lip, swallowing hard in an effort to stop herself from laying down and pulling him on top of her, giving him what she knew he wanted. What _she_ wanted.

Tristan stared at her, his breathing labored as well. He watched across the minuscule space between them, her forehead hot where it touched his lightly. Her eyes were closed, her full, dark eyelashes fluttering as she fought herself for control. Her normally alabaster skin was darker now, lightly tanned from the days of riding in the sun. But she was still delicately light skinned, giving a soft background to the lust induced flush that collected on her cheeks. Her hair was full and so dark, some of it fell down her back but the rest was tangled in his hand, the silk strands sliding through his fingers. He wondered if she knew that she carried the faint scent of wild flowers. He watched her, the gracefully designed bone structure that was only made more evident by her arousal; her flawless skin and the heat that kissed her cheeks and turned them the color of sunset; and her lips, always full and perfect but now swollen and red as the roses that climbed the walls of his castle. She still radiated an innocence, a nameless angelicness that made him know that she was utterly unattainable to him.

And with that thought came the bitter turmoil it always brought. Now that he'd touched her, now that he'd tasted her, the knowledge that he could never really have her made him hate himself. From the first moment he'd kissed her, after warning her against it, he'd had the unquenchable need to do it again. And again. He'd needed more. He needed all of her, everything. Always. And it wasn't all carnal. Wasn't just lust. It was a desire, an innate and deep rooted necessity that had always been within him but he'd never recognized before he kissed her. She'd touched something inside him, called to something within him. Something he'd just found and recognized. And it wasn't a want. Kira was a want. Reading was a want. Even eating and sleeping, when compared to her, were frivolous excesses. Leigh was a need. She wasn't an option or a choice. She never had been. But his need for her was complicated by the fact that he knew she was unattainable, no matter how much he wanted her. But looking at her now, he made himself push the thoughts away, focusing on nothing but her breathing and the heat that pumped from her body into his. He couldn't think about it, not now while she was so close. And looking at her now he couldn't hold back still, couldn't watch her lips instead of kiss them. He shifted his head forward, closing the minuscule space that separated them to fuse his lips against hers again.

She gasped into his mouth, digging her fingers into his biceps and shoulders. The heat still pounded through her body, slamming in all directions in her chest and her head and her stomach and even in her thighs. She kissed him harder, shifting her body against his to get as close to him as she possibly could. She felt his lips twitch against hers, a small smirk as she kissed him back hard, meeting him and betting higher. And he delivered.

It was her turn to gasp and Tristan's turn to grin in self satisfaction as he slipped his fingers further down the front of her bodice, brushing against the full curve of her breast, his touch running down the valley between her breasts and then fully over the smooth curves. She inhaled sharply, her eyes fluttering open as she ripped her lips from his, not knowing what to do as her body responded to his touch, engulfed in a wave of heat so that she felt she would explode if she didn't break the kiss and breathe. Her mouth didn't close after her gasp, rather it stayed wide, her mind and body too overwhelmed with sensations to react. He locked his dark gaze with hers, his normally clear eyes were deep and so dark, filled with some emotion or want she couldn't put a name to but her body recognized. She felt the muscles of her open jaw flex, her entire body reacting as his fingers moved across her as light as a kiss. At first she couldn't make a sound, her body shimmering and pulsing from where his fingertips moved slowly against her and spreading out to envelope her until it came to rest in the very pit of her stomach, warming her and banishing any worries or fears, expelling any thought but Tristan from her mind. She clenched her fingers tighter where she held him, feeling his muscles flex in response. She felt herself tensing, as if Tristan were only warming her up and her body knew it. She felt her skin heating and every one of the muscles in her arms, legs, and stomach contracting; she even felt the arches of her feet flex. Tristan shifted her slightly, his hand still trailing slowly and tantalizingly over her, and leaned forward, tracing his tongue over her bottom lip before pulling it into his mouth and sucking on it hard, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin. It did something to her, broke something within her, the mixture of his giving, feather-light touch coupled with his fierce, demanding kiss.

And a sound escaped from her throat on it's own, a gasping whimper that inexplicably communicated her innocence, her inexperience. It was an instinctive sound that, if Tristan had ever wondered if she were really pure, would have expelled any suspicions; that one sound of uncontrollable surrender, of a hunger she didn't understand, spoke volumes and attested to how very untouched she was. The sound that bled from the back of her throat was innocent, but it was no less carnal or uninhibited than Tristan's; it was the sound of virtue dying.

And it seemed to be connected directly to Tristan's libido. It was a sound she'd never heard, let alone made, that would make sense, of course, being as how she'd never been touched as he was now touching her. The day before she'd been pressed against him, felt him, but he hadn't actually touched her, never his skin against hers.

She was shocked as she felt him fuse his lips against hers and stand swiftly, bringing her with him. His hands were all over her, touching everywhere as he pulled her out of his lounge and into one of the other rooms. She didn't see where they were because her eyes were closed, too consumed in his touch and his lips to care what happened next or where they went. She heard a door close and then his arms were around her, pulling her close as he kissed her deeper than he ever had before, so much that she thought her body might be melting into his until they were inseparable.

Then without warning Rory felt Tristan's mouth break away from hers and a whimper of protest bled from the back of her throat. She opened hazy eyes to stare up at him, her breathing rapid. Tristan was looking down at her with eyes darker than she'd ever seen. It made her already burning skin heat up even more. His hand against the small of her back held her body tight against his own, close enough that she could feel him pressing hard against her hip. His other hand, tangled in her hair, held her head back and prevented her from reconnecting her lips to his. She shifted her lower body and felt his fingers clench reflexively in her hair, his breath hitching. Tristan's chest was rising and falling heavily and she saw the muscles in his throat working as he attempted to bring himself down.

When he spoke his voice was hoarse and it shook, "You should go. Before I do something you'll regret."

Rory blinked slowly, looking down. She stared at his chest, pressing her lips together. She forced herself to breathe slower, tried to think straight through the cloud of heat clogging her brain and the smell of Tristan's skin. One of her hands was clasped on his muscled shoulder, holding her to something solid so she didn't lift off the ground or fall straight through it. The other was on his washboard abdomen, where before it had been pushing against him but now rested limply.

She licked her lips, knowing that she couldn't go. Knowing that it wasn't even an option. The hand that was on his stomach slid slowly upward and she watched, her mind disconnected from her body, as it moved up to rest on his chest, over his heart. Her hand was pale against the tanned expanse of his skin, fragile looking and slim against the broad muscle. But beneath it she felt his heart racing. Beating violently against her hand. His breathing was slower now, controlled, but she felt his body, felt all of his muscles tensed for her answer. She felt all of him rigid and warm, holding her against him but tense with the belief that it wouldn't last. Her mind snapped back to the other night when she'd been sitting across the fire from Logan. She thought back to the way she'd looked at her, completely open and worried as he told her about Tristan. About the way he cared for her. The way he longed for her more than anything but was terrified of losing her. The only thing he'd ever been in danger of losing. The only thing he would have cared about losing.

She stared at her hand for another moment, his heart still beating wildly against it, and then raised her gaze slowly. It passed over his neck, where she could see his pulse jumping rapidly and the muscles still working hard as he fought for self-control. She looked up at him from hooded but now clear eyes and he stared back at her. His face was naked, stripped of all the masks he'd always buried himself under.

When she spoke her voice was quiet but unwavering, "I'm not leaving you."

She felt him shudder beneath her hands and his heart started beating faster. His expression changed, melted in a way that broke her heart. He looked down at her, caught between black disbelief and shock He shook his head lightly, uncertain of what to think, "Why?"

"Because you shouldn't be alone tonight." she whispered.

Silence pressed in around them following her hushed answer. He stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. She could feel his skin against hers, warm and smooth. His chest was rising and falling deeply. "_Why?_" he repeated, fiercer this time.

She didn't answer at first, uncertain herself of why. "Because you're always so alone." she whispered after a moment, her hand shifting from his shoulder to run along the strong line of his jaw, "I have never met anyone who is so absolutely alone as you are. But you shouldn't be." She pressed her hand firmly against his heart, uncertain of where this all was coming from, but knowing it was true, "I know what it feels like to be alone, Tristan, I've been there before too. I know the hurt. And the emptiness. But you don't have to do it anymore."

He stared down at her in the silence that followed, his eyebrows drawn together. He breathed rapidly, thrown off balance as he tried to figure her out the way she'd so obviously read him. He opened his mouth, his throat working as he tried to find his voice. But he couldn't. He clenched his teeth shut and she saw him fighting internally, struggling to fight back some emotion she could almost read. Struggling because he'd never had anyone. Never had anything to call his own. She knew that feeling, knew the overwhelming sensation of finally not being alone. The battle between pulling someone else into yourself or banishing them away because you couldn't stand to lose anyone else when you'd already lost so much.

She brought her other hand to his cheek and held his face between her hands, refusing to let him look away from her eyes. She pulled his face close to hers, resting her forehead against his as she whispered , "I'm here, Tristan. I'm here."

And she felt him change. Felt him surrender. She felt the relief rush through his body in a wave as a weight lifted from him. Felt him lighten. She watched as he exhaled in a rush, almost a reverse gasp as he grabbed her and pulled her against him, his lips descending onto hers. Her eyelids fluttered closed and her fingers curled reflexively against his cheeks. His mouth was warm and inviting and he kissed her eternally. She felt his lips curve upward as he almost smiled, kissing her so deeply he was pulling her out of herself an further into him.

He moved forward, pushing her against the wall. Rory locked her arms around his neck, pulling his lips harder against hers. And, to her own shock, she only felt warmth from the bottom of her stomach to the crown of her head as Tristan's hands slid from her body to her back and pulled at the knot that held her corseted dress in place. It gave with a snap and he moved his hands down her back, loosening the criss-crossed leather strap that laced through the back of her dress. She felt the cloth loosen around her and knew that she should have been panicking, but wasn't. She knew she should have been nervous or afraid, but she wasn't. Any fear or apprehension was melted by his warm hands covering her back, his lips moving slowly and fully against hers. When his hands came to the bottom he shifted them out, sliding them sideways across the bottom of her back to come to her hips. He squeezed her hips affectionately before pulling up at her skirt. She felt the hem leave the ground and move up. He continued pulling at it until it was bunched in his hands, and then he slid his hands up, running them gently up her sides, bringing her dress with them. She broke her grip around his neck to raise her arms above her head, allowing him pull the dress completely off of her.

His lips left hers long enough to pull the garment off, leaving her in her sleeveless, low cut, knee-length slip. He didn't look down at her now nearly exposed body, though. Instead he locked his lips back to hers, backing her up until she hit the wall. He pressed her against it with bruising force, one of his hands holding her face and the other clutching her hip, holding her in place while his body was pushed fully against hers. She felt the warmth of his skin burning through her thin slip. He shifted, pushing one of his knees between both of hers. She gasped, clutching her arms tightly around his neck as he used his leg to gently spread hers until both of her thighs were straddling one of his. A whimper escaped Rory in a sigh and she felt him grin against her lips as she pushed her lower body against his, wrapping one of her legs around his waist to pull him closer so that he was nestled against her intimately.

Tristan made a sound low in the back of his throat as she pulled him harder against herself and she heard him swear against her lips, taking a step back but dragging her with him before he grabbed the backs of her legs and lifted her from the ground. She wasn't pushed back against the wall anymore. Instead he held her weight completely, as if she weighed nothing. The feel of his bare skin against hers made her lower stomach tighten wonderfully. She felt the skin of his hips against her bare thighs as she tightened her legs around him. Her arms against his warm shoulders, his chest pressed against hers over the low neckline of her slip.

Rory felt his muscles tense and he broke his lips from hers, looking at her with clouded eyes, "Leigh."

She put a finger over his lips, silencing him, "Shh." she pressed her lips against his slowly, moving her hand down to slip her fingers lightly over the side of his face.

He pulled slowly away again and looked up at her, his expression nearly pained, "I don't want to hurt you." he confessed weakly, and she could see him fighting with himself.

Rory shook her head gently. Bringing her hand back to his mouth, she traced her thumb over his bottom lip, her heavy breath dancing across his lips, "You won't."

"I..." he trailed off, glancing between her eyes and her lips, his throat working.

She still shook her head comfortingly, tightening her grip around his neck, "Tristan." she whispered, kissing his eyelids gently, "You aren't going to break me." she connected her lips to his, lightly at first, but in a moment he'd deepened it and his mouth was working against hers hard enough to bruise.

She knew, realistically, that she should have been stopping him, should have been pushing him away. But she couldn't. She didn't want to. And she knew that _this_ was it. She felt him turn and step forward. She knew she should have made him stop. But pushed this close against him she couldn't bring herself to. She didn't have the will-power to even attempt it. Maybe, possibly, she might have eventually been able to convince herself to do it, but when her back hit the cool sheets of his bed all rational thought fled from her mind.


	12. Chapter 12

Tristan woke slowly, the sunlight slanting through the open curtains over his window falling on his face and heating the skin. He sighed quietly and then froze, surprised by a warm weight curled against his side. He was aware of a lean arm laid over his chest, could feel the small fingers resting on his collarbone. There was a warm torso and stomach pressed against his side and a leg thrown across his pelvis, the soft inside of a woman's thigh pressed against his left hip, the expanse of her upper leg laying across his lower abdomen, and the inside of her knee pressed against his other hipbone.

His arm was wrapped around her, holding her small frame close. Long hair brushed against his arm. He could feel her breathing.

Tristan shifted without opening his eyes, wondering briefly why someone was next to him in his bed. She shifted next to him and her hair stirred against his arm, releasing the scent of wildflowers and the night before came back to him in a shuddering blaze.

He could still picture Leigh in his arms, one hand over his heart, telling him that she wasn't going to leave him....refusing to walk away even when she knew where the night would lead; he could still see her face, open and innocent, but void of uncertainty. He could still hear her voice, quiet and conceding as she whispered to him that she was there, there for him. He saw her face behind his eyelids, set and warm and smiling in a way he'd never hoped to see her look at him, as she kissed him and opened herself up to him, assuring him that he wouldn't damage her. That she wasn't fragile. That she trusted him.

He remembered the first touch of her skin, of her stomach and her back and her chest as he pulled off her slip and she arched off the bed, lifting herself to help him get it off. He felt her hands running up his sides, pulling him closer against her as his lips ran down her neck, biting her gently as she gasped beneath him. He could still feel her bare skin, pressed between his body and the sheets of his bed as it heated in response to his touch. He'd slid his hand down between them, intending to heat her skin faster, when she'd grabbed his wrist. He still felt her hand on it, her fingers pressed hard around the joint as she guided his hand back up her body, away from her hip.

He still felt her hands, the fingers that were capable of wielding a sword and bringing a grown man to his death in moments, sliding hesitantly down his chest, making his muscles jump and his own skin catch fire. Still felt them pulling at the string of his pants until it was just his flaming skin against hers and nothing separated them.

He still saw her eyes, open and clear and shining, her mouth slightly open but grinning at the same time. Somehow, through the darkness of the night as he'd strained to see her body, her face had remained so blindingly bright in that moment that it almost hurt his eyes. It had been her expression, wiped clean of all uncertainty or fear or mask, that had gotten him. That had made him shake.

He could still hear her gasp into his mouth, her lips pressed hard against his and her hands clenching painfully in his hair as he'd entered her. He could still feel her body tensed around him, frozen in place as she adjusted to him. He could still taste the single salty tear she couldn't hold back, her eyes closed tight against the pain as he laid still within her. He'd kissed the tear away from her cheek, trailing his lips down her face to her neck, kissing her slowly and warmly, speaking softly against her skin. He'd said things he couldn't recall as his mouth had found its way back up her face, covering her cheeks and forehead and eyelids with affectionate, reassuring kisses before it found hers again. It took her a moment to respond, her breath still controlled through the pain, and he would have pulled away from her, as painful as it would have been, to stop her hurting. He almost did, but as she felt him begin to slide out of her she'd snapped her arms around his neck, opening her eyes to lock her shimmering azure eyes with his, whispering to him to stay.

He could still feel her body under his, a blend of hard muscles and soft curves. He could still feel her lips against his neck and his shoulders and his face; could still feel her hot breath against his ear as she'd whimpered softly, small sounds of pleasure escaping her mouth as she clutched him tighter to her. He still felt the thrumming ache as her blunt nails scraped down his back, her fingers pulling at his skin as she rode out her pain. She'd responded to him reflexively and he could still hear her crying his name quietly, her head falling back as she arched into him, could still feel her lips fused to his as he thrust gently into her, pressing her lightly until she learned how to move with him.

He still felt her all around him. Could still smell her skin and her hair. He still saw her eyes: wide and blue and full like no one else's in the world. He still felt her hands in his hair, forcing him to look at her. To make him see her. No one had ever done that before. He didn't know if it was just because most women were self conscious, or if it was because he was the king, so they didn't want to force him to do anything he didn't want, but no woman had ever _made_ him look into her eyes before, had ever captivated him.

Leigh did.

Tristan finally opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling above his bed. And here she was, the next morning, curled against him. He blinked slowly up at the stone above him, his brain had been racing forward but now it was still, unmoving and unthinking. She was in his bed. Asleep in his bed. He'd taken her in his bed. No woman had ever touched his bed. His escapades had been spread all throughout the castle, many in his study, many even in his rooms....the lounge, mainly, but also his sitting room and the study, two of the rooms that branched off from his lounge...but never, in all his life, had a woman laid in his bed.

It was something his father had told him when he'd first started the transition from childhood to manhood, right before he'd died: _Your bed is for you wife only. No matter who you touch, no matter what you do, you are never, never to bring another woman to you bed, whether before you marry, during the union, or if your queen precedes you in death. You shall never bring another woman to your bed. That part of you belongs to your queen and your queen only. No exceptions._ And he never had. After his father died and he'd moved into the king's suite, he'd sent his parent's bed with his mother and commissioned a new bedframe and mattress. No one but he and his wife were ever to grace the bed.

He stared up remotely, trying to feel something....some guilt about it. About letting down his father. About going back on one thing he'd promised him. But he found none. No part of him felt the slightest twinge of guilt at bringing Leigh to his bed. There was nothing in him of regret for pushing her down to the mattress as she twisted the sheets in her pale fingers and arched into him, her gasps still ringing in his ears.

He stared at the ceiling, unsure of exactly what he should think. He felt her sigh next to him, nuzzling her face against his chest in sleep. He looked down at her and his chest warmed. She was laying on her side, the right side of her body pressed against he mattress from her hip to her shoulder. His arm was wrapped under her and around, holding her close. He could feel her spine under his palm. His arm had fallen asleep sometime during the night and he knew that once he regained feeling it would be hell, but he had the distinct thought that it was worth it. Leigh's hair was tangled in loping waves down her back and across the pillow, stiff from dried sweat at her forehead and where it touched her neck. Her skin was pale and warm, smooth where it touched his. Her head was on the pillow next to his, her eyes closed and her face relaxed and open in sleep. She exhaled slowly, her breath stirring a lock of hair that had fallen over her face. He reached across both their bodies and tucked it gently behind her ear, thinking he'd never seen anything so humbling in all his life.

Leigh stirred at his touch, a quiet sound escaping her lips as she shifted, tightening her grip on him. Tristan watched, unable to suppress a small smile as her eyelids fluttered, trying to wake up. He turned over and leaned down to her, pressing his lips gently over her left eye, and then the right, before taking her half-asleep lips in his, kissing her slowly as she awoke. After only a moment he felt her respond as she came up through layers of sleep, a quiet whisper of contentment rising from the back of her throat as she slid her hand up from his chest to tangle in his hair. Leigh sighed against his lips, pressing her warm, solid body against his. The leg that had been over his pelvis wound around his hips, pulling his body against hers. Tristan smiled against her lips, his free hand coming up to tangle in her already messy hair, tilting her head up towards his. He broke away slowly, pulling his head back from her to watch her eyes open slowly, still drowsy with sleep. She smiled up at him slowly, tracing a hand down his chest.

"Good morning." his voice cracked.

Leigh flexed her foot at his back, sliding her fingers through his hair, "Good morning."

He rested his forehead against hers and felt her grin. He pulled her close, running his thumb down her jawline, "How did you sleep?"

She looked up at him through the happy haze of early morning confusion and sighed, rubbing her forehead against his, "Very well, thank you. And you?"

Tristan laughed lightly, brushing her hair back from her face, "Wonderfully." Leigh smiled contentedly and closed her eyes. Tristan pulled his forehead back from hers and laid it on her shoulder, breathing in her skin. He felt her sigh again, slipping her arms around his neck and relaxing her body down into the sheets, pulling him close. He allowed her to, shocked at the warmth that it kindled deep within his chest. He'd never done this. It was almost funny that, despite all the risqué interludes he'd had, he had never just laid in bed with someone. Never let anyone hold him close or just pressed a girl against the mattress, content to hold her as sunlight fell into the room, warming them.

"How do you feel?" he asked without moving his head up from her shoulder.

"Hmm?"

Tristan picked his head up, pushing himself up on his elbows to look down at her, "Did I hurt you?"

She opened her mouth, the haze of sleep having fled already. She didn't respond at first, just looked up at him. "Not really." she said finally. Tristan fixed her with a look that clearly said he didn't believe her and she sighed, tilting her head, "Tristan." she slipped her arms tighter around him, holding him close, "You couldn't have helped it." He cursed quietly, dropping his head to her bare shoulder, leaving an apologetic kiss over the warm curve. She turned her face towards him and after a moment he raised his eyes to meet hers. Her voice was quiet but reassuring and achingly honest, "It wasn't a bad hurt, Tristan. It's a good hurt."

His eyebrow arched, his expression still warm, "A _good_ hurt?"

She smiled gently, nodding, "Yes, a _good_ hurt. Every girl has to go through it, and I'd rather you than–" she gasped, breaking off as the door was slammed open.

"Tristaaaaaan!" someone called happily as the door swung open.

He shot off of her with blinding speed, faster than she'd ever seen anyone move, and in a moment he was sitting up glaring at the open door, the covers falling to the bottom of his stomach. He was positioned slightly in front of her, blocking her from being exposed to whoever was at the door. She pulled the sheet to her chest and sat up slower, shifting so that she was slightly behind him but could see the door, half of her chest pressed against his back.

Paris, who had choked on Tristan's name upon catching sight of them, gaped at them her jaw sweeping the floor in disbelief. Finn, standing next to her, stared at them with unveiled delight.

The four sat in stunned silence for a moment, no one speaking. After a stretch Tristan snapped, "Did you need something?"

Paris sputtered, "We were just–we wanted–" she shook her head, still shocked, "We wondered–we wondered why you were still in bed. We came to make sure you were okay. We didn't know..." she trailed off, glancing uncertainly at Rory.

Tristan stared at them as if they'd lost their minds, "I'm fine."

Finn's smirk widened, his eyes on Rory, "Well we do see that, mate. More than fine, I'd say."

"_Finn_." Tristan's voice was a warning growl.

"We're going." Paris grabbed Finn's arm, "We're going." she pulled him, trying to back away, but he didn't budge, just stared at the couple in joyful amusement. "Finn!" she snapped. He broke into a grin, allowing her to pull him back though the door. Paris slammed it shut behind them and Rory heard the door into the hallway shut heavily as the left Tristan's suite.

They sat in silence for a stretch, Rory's nose and mouth pressed into the back of Tristan's warm shoulder blade as they stared at the close door. She swallowed quietly, suddenly aware of the chilled breeze blowing through the open window. And of her state of undress, her crest uncovered. In the daylight. Rory closed her eyes, dropping the sheet from herself and slipping her arms around Tristan's bare torso from behind. She pressed her chest against his back, silently praying that he wouldn't look too closely at her. That he wouldn't touch her hip. Her heart beat erratically, slamming into her ribcage like it was trying to jump out. If Tristan turned around. If he stood and looked at her....there was no way to hide it.

He'd reached for her hip last night and she'd moved his hand away, guided it to other places of her body to stop him from feeling her crest. It had been dark last night, impossible for him to see it unless he was an inch away. And she'd been sure to sleep on her right side so that it was pressed against the bed and he wouldn't accidentally brush his hand against it. She didn't think he'd seen it, if he was aware of it he'd didn't let on. But now...now, sitting in the open air, she was paralyzed. She couldn't exactly lunge for her clothes without alerting him to a problem or exposing the burn.

Tristan turned his face towards hers and she looked up at him. The way he looked at her made her think back to two days before, when she'd gone into his study upon returning from dropping off the new guard, after they'd almost....done what they did last night. He'd stopped them from going too far that time. It was when Paris and Louise had interrupted them, they'd been sitting in the window seat, looking at each other, and she'd told him that she didn't care that everyone said she was sleeping with him. It didn't bother her. And he'd stared at her just like he was now...like he wanted to confess something, to open himself up to her, but he couldn't anymore, because they'd been interrupted, and the moment had passed. That was how he gazed at her now, only this time the look was deeper, the loss infinitely more devastating.

There was something in his face that made Rory relax....that calmed her nerves. She rested her chin on his shoulder and leaned in slowly, pressing her lips to his reassuringly. She felt him respond gratefully and a shiver raced up her spine. There was just something about kissing him.....

Tristan pulled back after only a moment, looking at her. "I guess we should get up." his voice was gravelly.

Rory tilted her head, nodding thoughtfully before glancing around the room, "Where is my slip?"

Tristan looked around for only a moment before nodding to the left side of the bed, where he'd tossed it after pulling it off of her, "There." he said quietly, jumping off the bed. Rory had a moment to be stunned at the lithe movement. She hadn't ever thought of him as stealthy, but he landed with barely a sound. She took the sheet and pulled it back up to cover her chest, surprised by the cold air as Tristan's warm skin left hers. He slid on the light cotton pants he'd been wearing last night and grabbed her slip, holding it out to her.

She smiled thankfully and slid it from his grasp. Rory grinned up at him, holding up one finger and spinning it in a circle. Tristan looked at her for a moment, his face scrunched in confusion. She clicked her tongue, shaking her head lightly and twisting it in a circle again. Tristan's face cleared of confusion and he balked, his jaw dropping in playful unfairness, "What?! Are you kidding?"

She laughed, shaking her head, "Do it."

"But–"

"Tristan!" she couldn't keep the laughter out of her voice.

He grumbled something under his breath but turned his back to her, crossing his arms over his chest. Her smile faded as she cautiously dropped the sheet, sliding from the bed to drop her feet to the cold stone floor. She looked at the lines and planes of his muscled back and strong shoulders as she slipped the garment over her head. There were long, dull red lines across his back that hadn't been there last night. She could only imagine they were from her nails.

Rory dropped the skirt of her slip as it fell around her, letting it brush the tops of her knees. She pressed her hand over her right hip for a moment before dropping her hand. She was about to tell him to turn around but changed her mind and instead stepped quietly towards him. Her feet made no sound against the stone floor and she raised her hands, about to cover his eyes from behind, when his hands shout out and he grabbed her wrists. She felt herself gasp, her heart jumping painfully in her chest from the shock as Tristan twisted and in a moment _he _was behind _her_, her wrists gripped in his hands and the entire backside of her body pressed against his front from her shoulders down to her knees. His arms were crossed over her chest, her arms pinned under his as he held her in place. Rory exhaled shakily, trying to fight the heat that rose in the pit of her stomach at having him pressed so tightly against her. But the sudden movement brought on something she hadn't noticed before, a dull throbbing at her center, a soreness she didn't imagine would go away for a few days.

She felt him laugh huskily into her ear as he pressed his hips into hers, "Is there a problem, Mary?"

Rory bit her lip, blinking rapidly. She wanted to say something back to him. Something intelligent, but all that came to mind was, "You haven't called me Mary in months."

His breath expelled in a chuckle and he released her, keeping hold of one of her hands to turn her around until she faced him, "I guess I came up with more amusing ways to annoy you."

Her eyebrow arched challengingly, "If by amusing you mean spending three months ignoring me and treating me like a common–"

He raised a finger to her lips, gently silencing her, "_That_ was only because it was unwise for me to be around you."

She looked up at him imploringly, her eyebrows drawn together, "Why?"

He sighed, looking down at their joined hands, "Do you remember the night before you left? When we were out in the practice arena?"

Rory tilted her head, looking up at him. She assumed that night would be burned into her mind for eternity, "Mmm I remember that I was talking to Callum, Nick, and Dorian. Then you and Logan showed up. Everyone else left…." She trailed off, shaking her head lightly, "Hmm no, and everything after that seems to be a blank." Tristan arched an eyebrow at her, unconvinced. She grinned, "Something about a tree, I believe."

His lip quirked and he shot her a look, "You said something that night. Something that I'd never thought of before but I've realized is true."

She leaned back, looking up at him, "I said a lot of very intelligent things that night. Which one are you referring to?"

Tristan didn't answer at first, just looked down at her. Her attempt at humor had no affect on him. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, "You said that I wasn't used to it, to having to wait for something that I wanted."

She nodded, "Yes, I remember."

He exhaled quietly, breaking his gaze from hers, "I'd never thought of it before, but it's true. I've never had to wait for someone I wanted. But the thing is, Leigh, I wouldn't have waited for anyone else." She looked up at him, her forehead scrunched in confusion. He still refused to meet her gaze, "I've never waited for anything…of course, no one before you had ever told me no…" he trailed off, biting the insides of his cheeks, "But my point is, I wouldn't have waited for anyone else, because all I've ever wanted from anyone else was their body. I don't just want your body. I never have. If that was all I wanted…." He shook his head, almost speaking to himself, "I can't even imagine _just_ wanting that from you."

She looked at him, moving her head so that she he was forced to see her, "And?"

Tristan's eyes narrowed and he turned his head slightly, looking sideways at her, "Do you really not see why that's bad?"

Rory shrugged gently, dropping his hands, "No."

His face screwed up in thought, as if trying to think of what he could possibly say. He exhaled heavily, as if tired but angry, "Honestly? You don't see why that could pose a possibly insurmountable problem?"

She opened her mouth a moment before she spoke, looking up at him through a confusion she tried to hold even though they both knew the truth was dawning on her. "No." she whispered finally, wishing that he couldn't read her lies.

She stared up at him in silence and he look back, astounded, his speechlessness written on his face. It was a moment before he shook his head, looking at her as if she were stupid for the first time. His lips hardened into a severe line and he swore, twisting away from her, "Don't be naive, Leigh. It isn't becoming."

She bit her lip, looking down at the ground in silence. "Tristan." She sighed his name, crossing her arms over her chest, "It's not…" she trailed off, flexing her fingers, "You say you want more than just my body….and I don't know, maybe you do and maybe you don't, I don't have the energy to figure out right now. But if it really causes you so much…" she broke off, searching painfully for a word, "misery. If it brings you such grief and is so problematic, then don't do it."

She bit her lip uncertainly, staring down at the ground waiting for him to respond. He didn't. After a stretch she slowly looked up to see that he was staring at her with an expression akin to what she thought someone would look like after being kicked in the stomach. And he was looking at her as if she'd been the one to do it. She breathed shakily, swallowing hard.

"….what?" he said finally, still gazing at her as if he'd never seen her.

Rory blinked rapidly, clenching her back teeth together, "I just…if you do actually want more of me, it's yours. You can have it. You can have _whatever_ of me you want." She shook her head, pressing her lips together, "But if it really brings you that much pain, if it really causes so many problems, then don't do it." Her voice was quiet as she finished, unable to look at him. Again she fell silent, waiting for him to say something. And again he said nothing. This time it took her longer to look up at him, but when she did she saw that he was staring at her with something else in his face, something broken. There was an impossible mixture of emotions swimming behind his blazing sapphire eyes: there was a warmth almost like she'd never seen, but also a pain like she'd never witnessed. He looked at her as if rather than offering herself to him, she'd pulled herself away. He was looking at her like she was taking everything away from him he'd ever had, as if he were watching his home burn to the ground or his best friend die. He was looking at her as if he were broken. But it was only in his eyes, in his face. His body was stiff and guarded, his expression, except for his eyes, stone. His eyes broke her heart.

Tristan swallowed hard, his breath escaping in a labored pant, "Leigh don't…" he trailed off, shaking his head, "Don't."

She looked up at him, "Don't what?"

He shook his head, "Don't tell me not to want more of you. Don't tell me to just want your body. Don't give me that option because I'll hate myself even more, and eventually I'll start to hate you." She stared up at him, having no idea what to think of that or how to respond. All she heard was a rushing in her ears. Hate her? He would hate her? It was like no matter what she did, she couldn't win with him. Tristan sighed gravely and she felt the heavy weight of his hands on her shoulders, pulling her towards him. He touched his forehead to hers, closing his eyes, "I'm sorry, Leigh. I'm sorry." She heard the frustration in his voice, the self-loathing in his tone.

Rory reached a hand up to touch his face, holding his cheek in her palm, "Tristan." She whispered. He opened his eyes slowly to look at her, his expression unreadable. She opened her mouth for a moment before speaking, "What is this about?" he looked at her without responding, obviously not sure what she was asking. She pulled her face back from his, keeping her hand on his cheek, "Why are you being like this?"

He broke his gaze from hers, his eyes trailing over her body as his hands slowly slid from her shoulders to press their way down her body, running over every curve with unhurried attention. When his hands came to her hips he gripped them lightly, pulling her lower body against his. His eyes swept up to hers, blinking slowly, "Like what?" his voice was heavy and muted; she was acutely reminded of the way he'd spoken to her last night, whispering softly into her ear, his lips brushing tenderly along her skin as he gripped her left hip gently, guiding her hips with his as he thrust into her again and again.

She had to hold her breath against the memory so she didn't shake against him. She thought of his chest and arms, warm skin over hard muscle; she could still feel them flexing under her fingers from when she'd gripped his arms last night, gasping through a confounding mix of searing pain and building pleasure.

She exhaled quietly, her eyelids fluttering as she forced her mind clear, "Contrite."

His eyes widened fractionally, stunned, "What?"

Rory shook her head, "I've never seen you like this before. You're being so apologetic…so repentant." Again she shook her head, pressing her lips together as she looked down, "What do you mean by it? If it's just that this can cause complications then I can't imagine why you would just now be bringing it up."

Tristan's head pulled back lightly and he fixed her with another one of those looks, like he was wary of her asking questions she already knew the answer to. "Leigh." He spoke quietly, "This has been complicated from the beginning and it's only gotten more precarious since the night I kissed you in. After this…." He trailed off, shrugging one shoulder, "there's no telling."

Rory looked down, her face burning, to trail her fingers lightly down his arm, "What are you saying?" she whispered.

He shook his head, tilting her chin up, "I know that last night you said that you understood what all this would mean…what it would entail for you. But I'm not sure that you really do."

"And what is that? I can't imagine it will change all that much. Everyone thought I was in your bed every night anyway."

Tristan grinned widely and the tension between them burst. He looked down at her, his expression brightening, "_Every_ night, they say?" his eyebrow arched thoughtfully as he pulled her closer, "I certainly wouldn't complain."

Rory rolled her eyes, careful not to clue him in on how much she too would like it, "You're infuriating. Has anyone ever told you that?"

He smirked down at her, "Me? How so?"

"Because." She snapped, "You go on about how bad this is and you're so grim and then out of nowhere you start laughing."

He clicked his tongue at her, "No _bad_, precisely, Mary. Risky, is more the word that comes to mind."

She rolled her eyes, "I am not going to argue terminology with you." She expected a smart response but got none. Instead Tristan looked down at her, his head tilted, his eyes tight in concentration. She looked up at him, "What?"

He spoke slowly, "Have I ever told you how unbelievably well spoken you are for your upbringing?"

"Oh." She blushed, mentally cursing herself, "No, you haven't. But others have."

He nodded thoughtfully, glancing out the window, "We really should go out there." He looked towards the door hesitantly.

Rory bit her lip, tilting her head, "Yeah, I was actually going to ask you to lace this up for me."

He looked down at her, "Hmm?"

She twisted so that he could see her back, the unlaced corset. "This, I can't get it on my own."

"Oh, of course." He slipped his hands around her hips, twisting her slowly so that her back was completely to him. He brushed all of her hair over her left shoulder, leaving her neck and upper back exposed, as well as all of her right shoulder under the thin strap of her slip. His hands slid slowly up her back until they came to the top of the leather strap crossed over her back. He dipped his head and she gasped in pleasant surprise to feel his mouth on her exposed neck, leaving full, lingering kisses over the sensitive skin as his hands worked their way down her back, pulling at the leather string and pulling it tight over her back.

By the time he got to the end and had tied the string off, his teeth were scraping softly down her shoulder and she was shaking lightly, her breath picking up. He could feel her hips unconsciously pressing backwards into his. Tristan grinned against her skin, slipping his hands from the small of her back to glide over her hips, sliding down over her flowing skirt to brush against the inside of her thigh. She gasped quietly, laying a hand on his wrist as his other arm came to wrap around her waist and hold her back against him. He didn't move, waiting to see what she meant by the hand on his wrist. But after a moment of motionlessness she did nothing, just opened her mouth uncertainly. Tristan grinned lightly and laid a kiss on her neck, not moving his hand any further up, though he knew she wanted him to.

"_Tristan_." She breathed quietly, half pleading and half scolding.

"Yes?" he grinned, nipping at the junction of her neck and shoulder. She shifted her hips, squirming against his hand though it held her torturously in place. "Oh no, Mary." There was laughter in his voice. Bastard. "Be good."

"Tristan." She wanted to sound angry but couldn't get passed the clouds in her mind that he was blowing around. It came out as a whimper. She felt him shiver against her back.

"We really should go out there." He muttered into her ear, kissing his way slowly down her neck.

"Mmm." She breathed, sliding her hand down until her palm covered the back of his hand. She laced her fingers with his and twisted her face around to see him. He looked down at her intently, his face clear of amusement. Her body ached in more than one way. She flexed her fingers around his hand, leaning up to press her lips fully against his as she guided his hand higher up her thigh, "They can wait."

She felt him grin against her lips as he pulled up her skirt.

Rory sat next to Logan later that day, looking at the line of swords before them. When the men returned from the border their first phase of training would be complete and in reward each would receive a new sword, stronger and sturdier than most of the ones they'd arrived with. The castle's sword smith had brought examples of his work for them to look at. She moved slowly down the line, tracing her fingers lightly over the hilts. All of the swords would be of the same design and she and Logan were to decide what that would be. Logan leaned over her, reaching for one of the longer models. She watched as he pulled it back and studied the weight and balance of it, running his index finger down one of the flat sides. She leaned back, crossing her legs in front of her. They were sitting on a large ornamental rug in the main training room, the one they'd brought Madeline into.

She bit her lip, folding her arms over her chest, "Logan?"

"Hmm?" he didn't look at her, his gaze trained on the sword in his hands.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, dearest Leigh." He looked up at her, grinning lightly.

She sighed, pressing her palms together. Logan hadn't said anything to her about Tristan yet today. Usually she would have thanked her lucky stars and moved on, but today, of all days, she wanted to speak of him. Of course that was probably why Logan didn't mention him. She would never have believed that Paris and Finn didn't tell the others what they'd seen, but Logan, despite his tendency to pick at her, would never have brought up something that he truly thought would make her uncomfortable, "When we were on the way to Stars Hollow a few days ago, you told me that I should be careful about my friends because of Tristan." He nodded, acknowledging that he remembered and inviting her to continue. She spoke slowly, "You said that Tristan was jealous and I should be careful because of you and Nick and Callum and Dorian, but you said specifically that I should worry about Marty. Why?"

Logan sighed heavily, rolling his neck in a circle as if he'd expected this question eventually, but hadn't been looking forward to it. His expression was unreadable. "Leigh." He started quietly, drumming his fingers. He was silent for a long time, thinking, "I know you've never seen Tristan fight, but he's amazing. I mean really, some people are born with a natural talent for battle and he's one of them. If he weren't king, I have no doubt that he would be in the guard, actually." He stopped thoughtfully. "Because of that there's a type of respect for the men in the guard. Tristan is a natural born warrior and just because he doesn't act on it, doesn't mean that he isn't one. I'm the same way. So are the others in the guard, including Nick, Callum, and Dorian. We're fighters, warriors. And because of that, Tristan sees us as equals. Losing you to one of us would be a blow, obviously. But it wouldn't….it wouldn't be as if he lost you to someone below him." He stopped again, as if thinking of how to word the next part. Rory didn't need him to though, she could see where it was going. "Martin is not the same case. And it isn't just because he works in the kitchen. That isn't it at all. Jackson, the husband of our head cook, he can fight. No one thinks any less of him for his chosen profession…." He trailed off, as if realizing that what he'd said wasn't precisely true. After a moment he spoke again, "Well, not quite, but we all know what he's capable of. Martin, on the other hand, can't fight at all. He's a good man. He's smart and he's capable. But he isn't…" Logan shrugged, "He isn't a fighter, Leigh. He isn't as much of a protector. I think to Tristan, losing you to Martin would be a blow he couldn't take.

"To lose you to one of us, it would be like losing you to an equal. But to Martin?" he shrugged, "that's losing you to the defenseless cook."

Rory shook her head, her eyes narrowed, "Logan that's terrible."

"Maybe." He nodded thoughtfully, "Maybe it is. But that doesn't make it less true. It isn't that Tristan doesn't like him and it isn't that he thinks he's really below him as a person. It's just…losing you to another soldier is nothing the same as losing you to a cook."

"Logan." She said quietly, dropping her gaze from his, "It isn't like that with Marty. Not at all."

He laughed lightly and Rory looked up to see that he was shaking his head minutely, amused, "Yes, I know that. We all know that. Except for Tristan."

She swallowed, looking down, "Logan I would never…" she trailed off, biting her bottom lip, "I wouldn't leave him." She whispered finally, closing her eyes, "Never for anyone." Rory opened her eyes to see that the carpet below her was blurred, not from tears, but from the rushing in her head.

"What?" Logan's voice was quiet.

She looked up to meet his gaze, "This morning, he told me that he wanted more than just my body and if it weren't for that then he wouldn't have waited so long, and he wouldn't have waited for anyone else." She inhaled shakily. Logan's mouth opened slightly, as if unsure whether or not he wanted to hear this. Rory reached forward reflexively, grabbing his arm, "Logan _please_, there isn't anyone else I can talk to about this." He opened his mouth helplessly, as if he wanted to tell her that he would have been more than willing to listen but for some reason couldn't. She wondered if confiding in him about Tristan could put him in danger. He looked at her for another moment, his face torn, before closing his mouth and nodding thickly, swallowing hard. She bit the insides of her cheeks, watching him, "He said that, but he also said that it was dangerous, that he wanted it, but it wasn't safe. And I just wonder…I just have to know if he meant it. Or if he was just talking."

Logan looked at her in silence for a moment before he licked his lips, closing his eyes tiredly, "Leigh." He muttered, looking as if he were about to betray some secret and it wracked him from the inside, "Did you wake up in Tristan's bed this morning?"

"Yes." She said quietly, uncertainly.

He nodded, opening his eyes, "You slept there last night?" she nodded slowly. He fixed her with a serious look, his eyes intensely hazel, "And Tristan took you in his bed? Is that right? You slept with him, gave yourself to him, in his room and in his bed?"

She opened her mouth, looking down. Rory exhaled in a huff, uncertain of how that mattered. "Yes." She answered finally, not looking at him.

She heard him sigh as if his whole body were sagging. His fingers crooked under her chin, lifting her gaze up to his, "Leigh. Dear, sweet, innocent Leigh, do you honestly think that the king just takes women into his own bedchamber?" Her eyes snapped to his. She opened her mouth as if she would speak, but no sound emerged. Logan smiled sadly, "I almost didn't believe Paris and Finn when they told me. Tristan has never brought a woman to his bed. Not even Kira." He shot her a look and she wondered how much Tristan had told him about their conversation on the laundry maid. "His father taught him that your bed was only for your wife. Ever. As far as I know, no matter what Tristan has done or who he has touched, no one has ever entered his bed. Not even the room."

Her eyes narrowed as she shook her head lightly, "No. No, that can't be true."

He shrugged as if it didn't matter, "It is, Leigh. I don't know what to tell you. If you're asking me if he meant what he said to you, that you're so much more than just a body, I can't help but tell you that it was true. We all knew you were different, Leigh, we all knew he cared for you, but I don't think that any of us realized just how different you were."

She blinked slowly, unable to take it all in, "But even if that is true, he said it was bad. That it was precarious and would cause insurmountable problems. He said it was dangerous."

Logan laughed humorlessly, "Oh course it's dangerous, Leigh. He's the king, and he's never even brought a woman to his actual bed, let alone really cared for one. Now, for the first time, he cares for a woman. And it's true, Leigh, that he does care for you deeply. Now he finally has someone that he wants to be with…." He trailed off, shaking his head sadly, "And you're common."

Rory jerked away as if he'd burned her, looking up at him with something between shock and anger and hurt, "Logan!"

He reached out for her hand, "Leigh, please, just listen. It isn't meant in any way, only that he's the king and he must marry another royal or a noble." He sighed, "Don't you know that if the situation were different every one of us would jump at the fact that he's finally found someone? Don't you know that we wish things were different? Why do you think Paris distrusts you so much? It isn't because she's jealous and it isn't because she feels you're beneath her. It's because she sees the way Tristan looks at you and it makes her hurt. Because we all know it can't be."

"It ca-" she broke off, looking down, "So what, I'm common and because of that all he _can_ want is my body?"

Logan sighed, bringing her hand to his forehead apologetically, "Yes, Leigh. Yes. And he knows it."

She swallowed painfully, "This morning when he told me that he wanted more than just my body, he said that he couldn't imagine only wanting that, and I told him…" she trailed off, her voice breaking, "I told him that if it caused him so much pain then he shouldn't do it. That he could have any part of me he wanted." She watched Logan through dead eyes, "He told me not to do that. Not to give him that option. He said that if he only wanted my body then he would hate himself more, and he would start to hate me." She finished in a whisper.

Logan's voice was gravelly, "He was telling the truth then too." he closed his eyes as if he were tired or in pain, "Yes, he knows. He knows that really that's all he can want. All he can ever actually have. That's why he said it." He sighed, opening his eyes to look at her, "Imagine, Leigh, going all his life, never loving anyone, never really wanting anyone. His family and friends have been badgering him for years to get married. I swear I thought he'd decided that he was just going to marry the next good match that came along because he was tired of looking and looking and never finding anyone." He exhaled in a curse, shaking his head, "And then you come storming into the castle and he can't see anything else. Imagine after all these years he's finally found someone to want. And he can't have you."

"Because I'm common?" she whispered.

He nodded sadly, "Because you're common."

She crossed her arms over her chest, looking away, "Lord, Logan, you make it sound like he loves me."

He shrugged, shaking his head, "No, no I won't say that. I don't know that he loves you. I don't think he does. Not yet anyway." She glanced up without speaking and after a stretch of silence he spoke again, "Not yet, but I imagine he could. And that, Leigh, is something none of us ever thought possible."

She looked at him, shaking her head lightly, "No. No Logan, don't."

His forehead scrunched, "Don't what?"

Rory swallowed hard, almost feeling like she wanted to cry, but her eyes stayed dry as she whispered, "He can't love me. That's not possible."

"Leigh-"

She shook her head, cutting him off, "No." she spoke sharply. She'd forgotten, like she always did, who Tristan was. What he'd done. How could she…how could she possibly be doing what she was doing? Love? Tristan, he may be different now from ten years before, but he was still the same person. After everything that had happened, after what he'd done, how could she even begin to think she cared for him? It was the same dilemma she faced on a daily basis now. Caring about him, and she did; wanting him when she knew she shouldn't. When she knew that the last rational thing would be to attach herself to him, to like him, to _sleep_ with him. She'd meant what she'd said the night before. She wanted to be there for him. She was there for him.

She didn't understand why when she was with him, everything that had happened in the past seemed to slip her mind. She could never see anything but him, couldn't think back to before she'd met him. The hate that had festered for years was gone the moment he entered her vision. But once she was away from his touch and his laugh and his kisses and had to really think about it, she realized how idiotic she was being…but still she didn't hate him, only herself for how inexcusably foolish she was turning out to be. And everyone had always said that she was the prudent one.

She was shocked when Logan finally spoke, "What do you mean, _no_?"

Rory looked up at him, blinking slowly, "Tristan can't love me, Logan, ever. Trust me on that." _If he knew the truth_, she added silently. If he knew who she was. She still couldn't believe her luck in his failure to notice her crest both last night and this morning…of course, this morning her dress hadn't exactly come completely off…

"What do you mean?" he asked quietly.

She raised one shoulder in a delicate shrug, "He could never love me. It isn't possible so just…" she trailed off, shaking her head. "Even if I weren't common."

"Leigh, I don't think...." he broke off slowly, his face drawn in uncertainty. "I don't think you understand."

Rory opened her mouth to respond but didn't get the chance when the door was swung open. She whipped around to stare wide eyed at the entry way. Stephanie and Colin stood in the empty doorframe, looking at the two of them uncertainly. Rory inhaled sharply, jerking her hand away from Logan as she realized how they must look. The two in the door didn't seem to be suspicious, however, they just looked at Rory and Logan inquisitively. Rory coughed into her hand lightly, turning away from them.

"Did uh…" Stephanie tilted her head, "did we interrupt something?"

Rory shook her head, twisting gracefully to her feet, "No. We were just talking about…" she trailed off, running her fingers through her hair in exasperation, "fairy tales."

Logan's eyes snapped to her, shooting fire, "_Leigh_."

She ignored him, smiling dazzlingly at the two friends that had entered, "I'm terribly sorry, but I do have to go." She sauntered past them easily, brushing a hand companionably over Stephanie's shoulder as she did.

The girl twisted, calling as if she'd just remembered something, "Oh, Leigh…"

Rory stopped, closing her eyes as a string of exceedingly unladylike curses wound it's way through her mind. She turned around slowly, trying to make her smile appear real, "Hmm?"

Stephanie looked at her, her mouth open slightly as if she would speak, but no sound escaped. She just looked at Rory as if she'd never seen anything like her, torn between affection and disbelief. After a moment Colin nudged her lightly. She jumped, shaking her head as if coming out of a daze. She let out a small derisive laugh that seemed to be aimed at herself. Her lip quirked, smiling gently up at Rory, "Nevermind."

Rory watched her uncertainly for a moment before turning her gaze to Colin, who shrugged one shoulder unhelpfully. She looked back to Stephanie, who still watched her in silent awe, "Okay." She said lightly, turning back to the door, "I'll see you all later, then." She left the room in a heavy silence, the others not speaking until she left. She wondered at Stephanie's astonishment but knew, really, that it was because of Tristan. Because she'd woken up in his bed and they all knew it. A bed no one woman had ever been in before. Because Tristan cared about her and he'd never cared about anyone else before.

Rory was looking at the floor, her forehead scrunched in concentration as she walked quickly through the surprisingly empty corridors. Her trek of reflection was interrupted when she heard someone call her name. She looked up to see Max striding excitedly towards her, his face bright. She smiled weakly, "Hello, Max."

He came to her, gripping her upper arms happily and spinning her in a circle, "Leigh. Leigh, Leigh, _Leigh_!"

She looked at him wide eyed, though amused, "Max."

"You are brilliant. Amazing. Sent from heaven, I'm convinced."

"Oh?" she asked, surprised.

He grinned hugely, releasing her arms and grabbing her shoulders warmly, "I don't know what you did. I can't begin to imagine what happened, but somehow, somehow you did it."

She looked up at him, tilting her head, "I did what?"

"Tristan. He's-he's…." Max shook his head, unable to form a description.

Rory shook her head, smiling lightly as she looked up at him, "Yes?"

"He's over the moon, Leigh. Ecstatic. Like I've never seen him." He laughed joyfully, gripping her shoulders, "Usually, the morning after the anniversary of his father's death he's…" he trailed off, shaking his head, "He's unreachable, having drunk himself into a stupor still. He's too grief stricken and angry to speak to, it all turns to yelling and cursing and fighting." He paused, grinning hugely, "But today, today I saw him walking down the corridor and I'll be honest, I almost ducked into the next hall. Not that I didn't have confidence in you, of course," he added thoughtfully, "but _then_, then he looked up and he saw me and do you want to know what he did?"

She grinned despite herself, catching his excitement, "What?"

Max spoke quietly, in amazement, "He looked up at me. And he smiled and he put a hand on my shoulder and he said, _'Max, isn't it a beautiful morning?'_ And then he laughed, and he walked away." He shook his head, still staring at her as if he'd never seen her before.

Rory laughed lightly, crossing her arms over her chest, "Did he?"

"Yes." He shook his head, his grin so wide it threatened to split his face, "I don't know what you did, Leigh, I don't know but thank you." He squeezed her shoulders lightly, "You're more than we ever could have hoped for." And with that he released her and bid her adieu, continuing down the hall.

She stood for a moment in shock, exhaling in surprise. She shook her head lightly, touching a hand to her forehead. She didn't know how she'd survive this.

Rory woke early the next morning, curled deep within the blankets of her bed. She yawned widely, stretching like a cat in the sun. She burrowed deeper into the mattress, whining against the pain that throbbed in her lower body. She'd felt the pain when Tristan had turned her around the morning before, pinning her arms to her chest after she'd tried to sneak up on him. And she'd felt it again later that morning when he'd pushed up her skirt, hitching up one of her legs and wrapping it around his waist as he pressed her back against the edge of the bed, swallowing her gasps and whimpers and quiet laughs with deep kisses. It hadn't hurt at much the second time.

But now she felt it, after laying still all night, moving again made the hard ache beat again. She bit her lip, burying her face in the pillow. She'd seen Tristan again yesterday when they'd all eaten dinner in one of the informal dining halls. It had been a meal of yelling and laughing and she'd spend the night sitting between Logan and Stephanie. Tristan hadn't sat next to her but throughout the night his gaze hadn't spent more than several moments away from her at a time. He'd glanced at her constantly while he laughed with the others.

After they'd all eaten Finn and Colin had come up with the brilliant idea to build a bonfire….or, well, to have the servants kindle one. They'd gone out into the back lawn in the dark night in a loud line once it was lit, carrying bottles of alcohol and walking behind servants who carted blankets to wrap themselves in and apples to roast over the fire. Rory had been in the back, walking next to Madeline when Tristan came up from behind her and grabbed her playfully, twisting her around and, without warning, catching her lips in a warm kiss. She gasped in pleasant surprise and heard Madeline laugh before continuing on to catch up with the others.

Tristan backed her up into the castle wall, pressing her gently into the cold stone. She laughed lightly into his mouth, slipping her hands under his shirt to slide her fingertips down the warm skin of his abdomen. He'd shivered against her touch, pressing his hips into hers. After a short round of dizzying kisses he'd pulled back, smiling warmly at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he took her hand in his, pulling her along with him to the large fire and sitting on one of the blankets, pulling her to lean against his chest.

They'd all stayed out until late into the night and after half of them had fallen asleep, Rory herself nodding off several times curled against Tristan's chest with his warm arms wrapped securely around her, they'd gone back up to the castle. Rory had walked slowly, her feet dragging in half-wakefulness. Halfway to the castle Tristan had swept her into his arms and picked her up as easily as if she were a child. She'd rested her head on his shoulder and hadn't even realized they'd reached her room until the cool sheets brushed against her skin. He'd laid her down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, thinking she was asleep. But when he'd stood up, his hands sliding from her, she'd gripped his wrists tiredly, bringing him back to her. He'd sat next to her and leaned over her, sweeping her hair back from her face as she looked up at him through a veil of exhaustion. She'd pushed herself up on her elbows and smiled up at him, asking him if he'd like to stay. He'd laughed affectionately and brushed a gentle kiss across her lips, telling her that she was delirious with tiredness and if she still wanted it in the morning when she was alert and thinking clearly to let him know and he'd be more than happy to oblige her.

He'd then kissed her lips gently again, pulled the covers higher up on her body, and brushed a hand affectionately down the side of her face before leaving the room.

Where she laid now, glancing over at the morning sun streaming in through the window. She only had another moment to stare at the window, though, because she was pulled out of her reverie when Anna made her presence known. She stood from a rocking chair in the corner, telling Rory to get out of bed and get dressed.

She squinted up at the older woman, annoyed, before pulling the covers over her head and turning over. Anna sighed and Rory heard something of her rolling her eyes before the covers were pulled entirely from her body. Rory hissed at Anna and curled into a ball, warming herself against the cold fall air. Anna muttered something about useless young girls before throwing something small and warm and alive on top of her. Rory jumped in surprise but then grinned as she realized it was her dog. She wrapped her arms around the puppy, curling up with him held tight against her chest. He whined excitedly, trying to burrow into her at the same time that he was trying to lick her face, unable to decide which he wanted to do more.

Anna snapped something else at her about getting up before she went into Rory's closet to pull something for her to wear that day.

Once she was out of the room Rory relaxed, thinking back to the day before when she'd come back to her room in the late morning after waking up in Tristan's. She'd opened and closed the door quietly, unsure of whether Anna would still be inside or if she would have left already. She hadn't. As soon as Rory had opened the door Anna had stood from her seat, glaring at the girl as if she could catch fire with a look. Rory hadn't taken a step into the room before Anna had started in on her, her voice rising with her anger. Rory took the tongue lashing, biting her lip as she stared at the old woman from guiltily hooded eyes. She knew, really, that Anna would have worried. She hadn't even thought of her keeper. Anna was still going strong in her rant when she stopped cold, her eyes widening ever so slightly as she stared at the girl in front of her. She'd said her name quietly, shocked but resigned, and somehow she'd known. She'd stopped her lecture and her anger and annoyance had drained in a flash. She'd walked to Rory and held her arms out, pulling the younger girl to her chest in a warm, comforting hug. "It's done." She'd whispered into Rory's ear, holding the girl tight. And she'd known. She hadn't said anything else, and Rory hadn't said a word all morning, but somehow, without passing a word between them, Rory knew that Anna knew, and Anna understood that she was torn and didn't need judgment. Anna had silently handed her the tea with a sad smile and Rory had taken it and drank without a word.

She looked now to the closet door, thinking kindly on Anna. The woman might have been harsh and impossible, but she really did care for Rory, shockingly. And she really was the only woman Rory had now. Rory remembered back when Anna had first forced her into drinking the pregnancy-preventing tea and she'd thought that the maid did it only for Tristan, to protect him. That it had nothing to do with helping her. But now she realized that she really had been wrong. It hadn't been completely for her, but partly, it had.

The older woman emerged after several minutes of banging around in the closet, a light yellow dress draped over her arm, "Leigh get up."

She sighed, loudly, uncurling just slow enough to make Anna roll her eyes, "I am, I am." She looked up at the older woman, "What's the hurry?" She sat up, stretching her arms over her head and popping her back.

Anna hung the dress up on Rory's changing screen, smoothing out the wrinkles, "The Queen Mother likes to dine early."

Rory whipped around to face Anna and lost her balance, crying out as she ungracefully toppled over the edge of the bed and landed unceremoniously on the cold stone floor. Anna turned towards her, her face screwed up as she regarded the girl on the floor.

"Is there a problem?"

"Uhm…" Rory trailed off, pushing herself painfully into a sitting position, "The Queen Mother?"

Anna nodded turning back towards the dress, "Yes, you'll be dining with her this morning."

Rory scrunched her nose, staring up at Anna, "Again? Why?"

She shrugged, "She requested you sit with her this morning." Rory didn't say anything, just looked at her. Anna sighed after a moment, fixing the younger girl with a look, "Be serious, Leigh. She knows what's happened between you and Tristan."

Rory opened her mouth, but had nothing to say, and so she closed it, leaning back against the bed and pulling her knees to her chest, "Damn…"

The corner of Anna's lip quirked and she motioned to Rory, "Put on your dress so I can do your hair."

Rory walked resignedly down the hall, trailing her fingers over the chilled stone as she made her way slowly towards one of the side dining halls that the Queen Mother used. She inhaled deeply, biting her lip as she looked down at the stones beneath her feet. They were cold. The castle was contracting a chill as the weather had turned suddenly colder within the past few weeks. In fact, the dress she was now wearing was long sleeved, one of the first times she'd worn one this season. The castle was kept warm by fires that constantly burned in the large hearths spread in almost all of the rooms.

Rory closed her eyes, stopping at the end of the hall. She looked out to the corridor beyond, which led to the grand staircase and then downstairs to the foyer where she would veer off towards the dining hall. She pressed her lips together, wondering what the Queen Mother would want to talk about. Tristan, obviously, but what would they possibly talk about? She couldn't imagine what she could say to please both Tristan and his mother.

She was halfway to the dining hall when she was interrupted by a voice from behind, "Leigh!" Rory twisted around to see Tristan jogging towards her.

She smiled up at him, "Hi."

He grinned, leaning down to kiss her lightly, "Morning."

"Good morning."

He glanced over her shoulder, looking in the direction she was walking towards, "Look, Leigh, Max told me that my mother wanted you to have breakfast with her."

She nodded, leaning back on her heels, "Mhmm?"

"Yes. And I wanted to tell you that you don't have to do it." She looked up at him, not bothering to hide her confusion. He sighed, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her close, "You don't have to do what she asks you to."

Rory smiled up at him lightly but shrugged, wrapping her arms around his neck, "I don't mind."

Tristan grinned crookedly, shaking his head, "Leigh, Leigh, Leigh, you don't have to be nice all the time, you know?"

She laughed, "Yes, I do know. But if she really wants me to…" she trailed off, again, shrugging.

He looked down at her in silence, trailing a thumb lightly over her lower lip, "Leigh, do _you_ want to?" he stepped forward slowly, backing her into the wall.

Rory bit her lip, feeling the cold of the stone walls through her dress. "I want…" she trailed off, pressing her lips together. She couldn't bring herself to say it; not that it mattered anyway. He would've known she was lying.

"You want…" he repeated, coaxing her on.

"To be nice."

He groaned, hitting his forehead against her shoulder, muttering under his breath, "Leigh, Leigh, Leigh…"

She looked at him for a moment before grinning, "I'm alert and thinking clearly."

Tristan smirked, picking his head up and pinning her body against the wall, "Are you?" he twisted a lock of her hair through his fingers.

She nodded, tracing her hands lightly down his chest. "Mhmm. And I do seem to recall that last night a promise was made…"

He laughed, leaning down to lay a kiss on the side of her neck, "Was it?"

"Yes."

He smiled, brushing hair out of her face, "And what is your verdict?"

"Well." Rory trailed her fingers lightly down his arms, "I'm still very much interested in what I proposed last night." She laced her fingers through his, leaning up to kiss him slowly. She felt him respond, pushing his lower body against hers as he deepened the kiss, raising her hands to press the backs against the stone wall on either side of her, pinning her in place. Rory laughed after a moment, breaking away, "But…"

Tristan gave her a disappointed look, pushing his lower body harder against hers, "But what?" he kissed a trail down her neck.

She grinned, pushing her hips against his to get him off of her. She took a step down the hall, keeping her fingers laced in his, "_But_, first I have to have breakfast with your mother."

"What?" he looked at her as if she'd lost her mind, "Leigh, dear, sweet, wonderful Leigh," he took her face between his hands and pressed his forehead against hers, "There are much more important things to do right now than have breakfast with my mother."

She laughed, breaking her forehead from his, "Tristan!"

He looked at her, exasperated, "There _are_!"

"Aww." She was still laughing, leaning up to kiss him playfully as she pulled him along with her, "But right now we have to do this."

He shot her a look, "We?"

She grinned, falling into step next to him and pulling one of his arms around her waist, "We. Unless of course you don't want to take care of more important things afterwards…"

Tristan's eyes widened, looking down at her as they continued down the hall, "You are _so_ ruthless. Have you always been this way and I'm just now noticing?" she grinned widely, shrugging one shoulders dismissively. Tristan clicked his tongue, shaking his head lightly as he tightened his grip on her, "Mmm yes, well I like it."

She laughed, allowing him to lead her to the dining room.

Once they were right outside of it, however, she stopped. Tristan paused as well, his brow creased as he looked down at her, "What?"

Rory rested her hand on his arm, looking up at him, "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

His eyebrow arched, "What?"

She nodded towards the doorway before them, "Go in there. You don't have to come if you don't want to. I know you and your mother…" she trailed off, shrugging one shoulder.

Tristan tilted his head, grinning crookedly, "Leigh. Do you want to go in there with my mother by yourself?"

She opened her mouth but said nothing, blinking slowly. His grin widened. "Uhm…" she said quietly, drumming her fingers on his arms. There was no use answering; they both knew what she'd say.

Tristan smiled lightly, pressing his lips to her forehead, "You don't need to worry about me and my mother."

She looked up at him through wide eyes, unconvinced.

He shook his head, "Leigh, I came this morning to tell you that you didn't have to go, but if you decided to anyway then I was going to come with you. There's no reason for you to have to humor my mother."

Rory bit her lip, her brows knitting together, "What is it you think will happen?"

"I don't know, really. She's manipulative and conniving and selfish. I couldn't tell you what goes through her mind except that it won't be fun for you."

She looked up at him for a moment before grinning, her jaw dropping, "Are you _protecting_ me?"

Tristan opened his mouth, surprised, as if he hadn't thought of it that way. He narrowed his eyes, tapping his fingers on her back thoughtfully, "Protecting?"

She nodded, grinning up at him accusingly, "You are."

"Eh." he muttered, twisting her around and putting his hand in the small of her back, "You. Inside."

She laughed allowing him to push her in, "You can deny it all you want Tristan, but it's _tru-ue_." She sang quietly as they entered the room.

"Silence, wench." He muttered, playfully smacking her thigh.

Rory laughed out loud, slapping his hand away. She walked towards the table with Tristan's hand still on her lower back. The Queen Mother sat at the table and Rory, who'd expected the woman to be glaring at her, was surprised to see that her gaze was trained on her son's hand on Rory. They came to the smaller, informal table and Tristan pulled a chair out for her. She smiled and thanked him as she slid into it. He stepped around his mother, laying an expected kiss on her cheek. It was stiff and proper; empty. He sat across from Rory, allowing his mother to stay at the head of the table.

The Queen Mother motioned for food to be brought out and servants jumped to obey. She turned towards them, her mouth forced into a smile, "Tristan. I wasn't aware you would be joining us this morning."

He grinned at her maddeningly, his expression as forged as hers, "I was just curious as to what you had to talk to Leigh about that was so important it warranted a breakfast invite." He grinned crookedly, "I wasn't aware the two of you spoke."

His mother's face became a mask as she twisted her head around to look at the girl in question. Rory bit her lip, looking back at her steadily. "Only occasionally, dear." She said evenly, speaking to Tristan though her gaze didn't leave Rory.

Tristan nodded thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair as a plate was placed before him, "Oh well, go on with whatever you had planned, just pretend I'm not here."

The Queen Mother's eyebrow arched but she said nothing as she looked steadily at her son, "I must admit, Tristan, that I am surprised you came."

"Are you?"

She nodded, "You've never felt the need to dine with me before, and even last time I had tea with Leigh, you weren't there and then last time I tried to have breakfast with her you called the entire thing off…" she trailed off, shrugging.

His eyebrow arched challengingly, "I was in Rivenlear the first time, mother. I wasn't aware you were attacking her." His mother shot Rory a look that made her shiver. Tristan glanced between them before chuckling humorlessly, "No, mother, she didn't tell me what you said, but I can imagine. It isn't that hard with you."

She looked back to her son, sighing, "Tristan, dear, what is it you think I'll do to her?"

He shook his head lightly, "You're incorrigible, mother. I wouldn't leave you alone with a mountain lion for fear of the animal's safety."

"Oh well that's nice." She snapped, taking a drink of her wine. "This is actually a conversation that I've been meaning to have with you son." She motioned towards Rory, "Though not with her in the room."

Tristan stilled, staring at his mother without a sound. She'd surprised him, though in the years he'd been king he'd had to learn to mask it.

Rory looked between them, pressing her hands together in her lap in the tense silence. She hadn't spoken since they'd entered the room. Watching Tristan and his mother argue was like watching a storm coming. Before rain and lightning and thunder there was only the steady accumulation of clouds, a pickup in the wind. With them it was the same. They slowly built up and up, and she was sure once they were alone the clouds would break.

"I don't have the urge to discuss anything with you, actually." Tristan said calmly, watching her evenly.

His mother opened her mouth to give what was sure to be a cutting reply, but she didn't get the chance because Stephanie stormed in through the open doorway. All three of them snapped around to face her striding confidently in and dragging a miserable looking Logan behind her.

"This began as a private breakfast." Tristan's mother muttered, looking up at her niece and nephew with a decidedly sour look.

Stephanie ignored it, "Auntie Catherine!" she called, beaming.

She elbowed Logan in the ribs and he grunted, "Morning."

The blonde girl rolled her eyes, pulling out the seat next to Rory, "Auntie Catherine I was so upset when I realized that we're leaving in three days and I haven't gotten much of a chance to spend time with you." The Queen Mother looked at her, unconvinced, though she said nothing. Logan collapsed into the chair next to Tristan. His cousin shot him a questioning look and he shrugged, motioning towards Stephanie. The girl went on, "And when I heard that you were meeting with Leigh and Tristan I just had to come. She's wonderful, isn't she?" the girl was still smiling widely.

The Queen Mother's eyebrow arched as she glanced over at the girl in question, her quiet voice hard enough to cut glass, "Positively fantastic."

Rory laughed, following Tristan as he pulled her down the hall, "Where are we going?"

He shot her a conspiratorial look, grinning, "Patience, woman, patience."

"Tristaaaaaan." She groaned, "I hate surprises."

He just laughed, "You won't hate this one." She glared, grumbling under her breath while still laughing. He pulled her through the bottom floor of the castle, through the military wing, and outside, the sun hitting her exposed arms at the same time as the chilled wind. It immediately made goose bumps rise over her skin. She felt Tristan laugh against her side.

She elbowed him in the ribs, "Shut up." He just laughed harder, but slipped his arm around her, pulling her against his side, chafing his hand over her exposed skin. She wanted to push him away because he was being obnoxious, but she really was cold.

"It's not much farther." He assured her.

She looked around as he led her in the direction of the outside practice arenas. He brought her around to the very back of the castle and to a door she'd never noticed before. Rory looked at the sturdy wooden door set into the solid stone wall. She pictured in her mind what was on the other side. A weapons room. But there was no door in it. She looked up at Tristan, "What is this?"

He shot her a crooked grin but said nothing, pulling a string from around his neck with a sturdy-looking key strung onto it. He easily unlocked the door and pushed it open, leading her inside. The first thing that hit her was the dull heat, welcome after walking through the chilled air. The second was the tang of metal sifting through the air. It was a good sized room and she looked around, shocked to see that it was a small smithery. She looked up at Tristan, surprised, "How…". She trailed off. She'd known that the castle had its own sword smith but she'd never imagined that there was a smithery tucked into the back. She took in the furnace and anvils scattered throughout the room, barrels of metallic chunks and tools for beating out the blades. On one side of the room there was a shelf full of precious stones to be laid into the hilt of the royals' and nobles' swords.

Tristan pulled her into the room and closed the door behind her to keep out the cold. Sunlight filtered into the room from gaps near the ceiling, set along the outside wall. She presumed they were for letting smoke filter out and prevent it from getting too hot while the sword smith was melting metal for the swords. Several finished swords lined the walls and she looked at them longingly, biting her bottom lip without realizing it.

He watched her take it in, grinning at her lightly. Finally Rory turned to look at him, shaking her head lightly, "I didn't even know this was here."

Tristan laughed, nodding, "Most people don't."

She took a step away from him, towards the wall with finished swords, "Why?"

He looked at her contentedly, his arms crossed over his chest, "We have so many weapons that need to be made…" he shrugged, "It's easier than commissioning them from an independent weapon smith."

She exhaled in a disbelieving laugh, stepping over to the swords lining the wall. She was almost to them when one caught her eye, lying across a shelf below the line of swords on the wall. She looked down to it, her eyes widening. It rested atop a thick burgundy wrapping cloth but at the moment it was unwrapped. She stared down at it, her jaw dropping slightly. It was smaller than most swords, made for a small fighter, swifter than strong. Its blade gleamed in the autumn light slanting into the room, blindingly bright and smooth. Her gaze travelled up to the hilt and she blinked slowly. The metal was two sections twisted around each other in a swirling handle and the entire hilt was set with dark sapphires and clear amethysts at intervals along it. She ran her fingers along the hilt slowly, watching the way the sunlight played off of it.

She felt Tristan right behind her, his chest nearly touching her back. "What do you think?" he asked quietly.

Rory exhaled quietly, shaking her head minutely, "I've never seen anything like it." She whispered honestly.

"Its yours." His voice was soft.

Rory froze. She stared at the sword before her, uncomprehending. She glanced up at him, "What?"

He smiled gently; before she would have thought he was pleased with himself, but now she realized that wasn't it. He was happy, because he was doing something for her. Just because he wanted to do things for her. "It's yours. I had it commissioned for you a few days before you left to take the men to the border." She stared down at the sword, not knowing what to say. She was touched, of course, and really, overjoyed, but he would never have known that by her reaction. She stared at the sword in shocked silence, taking it in. Tristan, seemingly thrown off by her lack of reaction spoke again, "I mean, you have a sword, I realize…and it's a good one….but this one is better." He said simply.

"Tristan." she said quietly, twisting around to face him. From his voice she'd expected him to look uncertain, but he didn't; he just looked down at her calmly. She put a hand over her heart, tilting her head, "I don't know what to say."

He smiled warmly at her, amused, "Just tell me you won't use it to impale me."

She laughed lightly, "Only if you promise to behave yourself."

His eyebrows arched challengingly, showing that he didn't buy her demand, "Do you _want_ me to behave myself?"

Rory pursed her lips, shooting him a look, "Yes."

He narrowed his eyes at her, tilting his head thoughtfully, "How about….we make a deal?"

She grinned, crossing her arms over her chest, "What kind of deal?"

He smirked, reaching around her, his fingers brushing her side. When his hand came back he was holding her sword by the base of the hilt. He held it towards her. She looked up at him, narrowing her eyes in confusion, but she took it slowly, slipping her fingers around the hilt higher up. It was as light as it had looked. He pulled his hand back and leaned past her again, pulling one of the swords from the wall. "You beat me, and I'll be the most respectable gentleman. A saint." He grinned devilishly, tracing his fingers lightly along the scar on her lower collarbone, making her shiver. Or maybe that was just from the bedroom drop in his voice, "But if I beat you…" he trailed off, scraping his teeth over his bottom lip, "you have to do whatever I want." Rory inhaled sharply, her skin already heating up. She could feel his body heat through both of their clothes. She could smell his skin. His fingertips tracing along her collarbone made her knees shake. He still looked down at her, reveling in the effect he was having on her. His voice was quiet when he spoke next, like skin over bed sheets or the wind in your hair, "Deal?" he whispered into her ear, scraping his teeth over the shell.

Rory exhaled shakily, pushing him away from her roughly. He looked down at her, surprised but pleased, his eyes snapping with some pent up arousal. She grinned up at him wantonly, shifting her weight to get a more solid stance, "Deal."

He smirked at her languidly, his perfect lips curving. There was a spark in his eyes, the same one she'd seen the night he pushed her against the tree in the practice arena. He loved to play. He loved a challenge.

Tristan stepped slowly to the right and Rory did the same, circling each other slowly. He held the sword deceptively loose in his right hand, watching her with bedroom eyes. He moved gracefully, the same way he had when he'd jumped off the bed without a sound, he stalked her like a cat. She watched, taking account of all his movements, waiting for him to strike. She saw his attack before it came but was caught off guard by his speed. She blocked him as he lunged at her, skipping away and out of his reach. He grinned and she saw him crack his jaw, circling her again.

Rory bit her lip, watching him cautiously as they circled each other, confined to a smaller space than she was used to. The room was big enough to walk around in, but because of all the metal working tools spread throughout the room they were confined to a space neither of them were used to fighting in. She moved slowly, tilting her head. Tristan watched her, his lip quirking thoughtlessly and without warning she skipped forward and swiped at him. She'd thought there'd been no warning, but her sword found nothing but empty space. He was gone and she twisted with her momentum, turning to face him again, his eyes shining.

She could already feel the sparks jumping between them and knew that this wouldn't take long. She had no idea who would win, but neither would have the self control to wait it out. This wasn't a contest of who was better with a sword. It was a battle of who would hold out the longest.

And Tristan was already giving her that look.

They circled each other still. Tristan watched her through clouded eyes, faking left, and Rory raised her arm lightly, shifting her stance to accommodate for it. He moved forward so quickly she barely saw him move, but she raised her sword in reaction and skidded to the right, out of his way as their blades met in a metallic explosion. She gasped from the impact, jarred, but didn't fall as she circled her sword around to get it off of his and slid backwards, out of his reach. He was watching her, smirking, and she took his moment to recover as her cue to jump for him and she thrust her sword forward, catching him off guard with the rapid movement. He barely had time to raise his sword to knock hers off the course it was taking for his shoulder. The familiar sound of swords grinding and sliding against each other made her grin reflexively as her blade skated over his and slipped off. They were closer now than they had been. She could see his chest rising and falling rapidly, his breathing almost labored. It wasn't from their fighting.

He stepped lithely and she moved to mirror it, staying a breath away from him. She could feel his need almost like a breeze across her skin, could taste their sweat in the air. She could see that she was winning.

Rory, sensing the reaction she was bringing up in Tristan, looked up at him from hooded eyes, and after a moment of locking gazes with him from below her thick sheet of loose, loping curls, she grinned, her eyes smoldering and her lips curving in a most shameless and suggestive way. She looked at him, breathing hard, and bit her lip slowly. And something in him snapped. He moved forward, didn't lunge, didn't jump, didn't try to catch her off guard, but he moved forward like a storm or an avalanche or a wave, raising his sword. Rory stepped back, raising her own to ward off his rapid, teeth chattering blows as he backed her further and further into the room, his eyes nearly glowing in the dim light. She gasped, moving quickly backwards, raising her sword over and over until, without warning, her back hit the stone wall and Tristan grabbed the wrist of her sword arm forcefully and pinned it against the wall, his body crashing into her without missing a beat. His lips were rough and fast and demanding against hers.

She heard something solid strike the ground that could have only been his sword. A second later his hand was on her face, holding her in place as his lips assaulted hers roughly and thoroughly. Rory gasped into his mouth, arching into him. She could feels his fingers tangle in her hair but his palm still stayed on her cheek as he tilted her head up, fusing his lips for hers more fully if it were possible. The hand that was pinning her arm to the wall broke from her wrist to covers her fingers and pull the hilt of her sword from them, dropping that to the floor also.

Her hands automatically went to his body, one sliding into his hair and the other reaching to clutch his shirt over his chest, holding him close. She could feel him pressed hard against her hip and she whimpered, shocked by how quickly he raised the heat in her own abdomen. Usually at that he would have grinned against her lips, but this time he didn't. Rather than amuse him it seemed to fuel him and the pressure of his lips against hers increased, his teeth scraping her and his tongue forcing its way into her mouth. She felt her own fingers tighten on him as he pushed one of his kneed between hers, pushing her legs apart so that both of her thighs straddled one of his. She mewed quietly again, the hard muscle of his leg pushed against her center.

Rory hands moved without thinking and before she knew what was happening she'd pulled his shirt over his head. Somehow her skirt had been pulled halfway up and she was starting to untie his pants when he grabbed her wrists swiftly, breaking from the bruising kiss to speak hoarsely into her ear, "_Turn around_."

Her immediate reaction was to do anything he told her to, knowing in the end it would work to send her into oblivion, but the abruptness of his command surprised her. She couldn't imagine why he wanted her to do it. She looked up at him through the haze that muddled her brain, confused, "What?"

"Turn around."

"Why?"

"Because I said so." His voice was gravelly and harsh; not unkind, but nearly to the breaking point with restraint.

She knew, her body was screaming at her, to just do what he said. But some obstinate, sadistic part of her refused to. "No."

He growled under his breath, slamming her hands roughly above her head, pinning her completely to the wall so that she couldn't move, "_Yes_. I won."

"No you didn't." she protested, but it turned into an uncontrolled gasp as he pushed his thigh harder against her center, making her shake.

"Who got whose sword away, _Mary_?" he said into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. She didn't answer, having nothing to say to that. She couldn't think with him pressed this close anyway. He chuckled into her ear, "Exactly." And again before she could react he'd twisted her around, and once again pinned her hands above her head, only this time her palms were pressed against the stone and his chest was pushing against her back, his hips pressed firmly against hers from behind.

He slid his hands from the backs of hers, running them down her arms before sliding them languidly over her chest and down her sides until he came to her hips where he slid them around and came up her back, pulling the lace from the corset at her back. His fingers moved deftly, loosening the string in record time and within moments he'd pushed the dress down to puddle at her feet and she was left in nothing but a thin slip.

Tristan pushed his hips harder against hers, his lips trailing down her neck as his hands slid around her body to run slowly up the inside of her thighs, to brush across her center and continue up to her stomach. She inhaled shakily, pushing her hips back into his. She breathed his name, gasping has his touch ran over sensitive parts of her body. She felt his body shake with a laugh, but his hands were trembling from something else as he slid them up and then down her skin until he came to the skirt of her slip, which he bunched in his hands and pulled up until he had the whole garment over her head and he tossed it to the floor.

Rory felt herself shiver, exposed to the cold breeze filtering in through the gaps in the far wall, but it was only the briefest of moment because Tristan was there again, covering her body with his own. His warm chest pressed against her bare back helped to chase away the chill. The material of his pants was rough against her backside and thighs, but she barely noticed that as his fingers trailed over her now bare skin, running up her sides and across her chest and down her stomach...trailing down the junction of her torso and her leg, his breath hot as he whispered into her ear in a language she'd never heard before but didn't need translated to understand the meaning behind his words. His hand moved over the outside of her thigh, pressing hard against the skin before it slipped around to the inside of her knee and slowly moved up.

It was a moment before she realized he was again speaking in English again.

"….Mary."

"Mmm." She mumbled, closing her eyes and leaning her head back against his shoulder.

"Tell me if you want me to stop." He whispered against her skin, his voice still breaking with restraint. But there was something else to it, an aching honesty that was almost swallowed by the frustration of not yet being joined to her, "Please, please if at any point you want me to stop, tell me."

Rory opened her eyes slowly, twisting her face to look at him, "Tristan." She said quietly, sliding her hands down to cover his where they rested on her body, "I won't want you to stop." She breathed against his lips, shaking her head minutely, "Don't ever stop." She whispered.

She saw him swallow hard, something spark to life in his eyes, and a moment later his mouth was back on hers, fierce and demanding, and his hands continued their trek across her body.

Rory laid next to Tristan some time later, curled against his side. His fingers were tracing lazy patterns into her back through his shirt that was wrapped around her. She laid on her right side, of course, to hide her crest, but the shirt of his she wore fell down to mid-thigh, covering it if she stood. She slid her left leg over to twine with his legs, the rough material of his pants scratching against her bare skin. He'd put them back on a few minutes before pulling her to the floor to lay with him, her head on his chest.

Rory closed her eyes, listening contentedly as he brushed his lips across her hair, once again muttering in that language she didn't know. She hadn't really thought of it before, but she supposed the king would he taught languages.

She realized lazily that Tristan was now clean shaven, the skin of his face moving differently against her than it had the first night she'd been in his bed…had it really only been two nights ago? Had it just been the previous morning that he'd taken her again against the side of the bed, pushing her back into it, his hands hard on her body and his breath hot in her ear as he pushed her skirt up and thrust into her, making her head fall back and her back arch up.

She closed her eyes, burrowing her face into his chest and he stopped whispering against her, slipping his fingers under her chin to tilt her head up, touching his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. This time he didn't ask if he'd hurt her. She didn't think it was that he didn't care, not at all. She knew it was that he wasn't sure of the answer, and he wouldn't have been able to handle it if he had.

They broke away after a moment, eyes still closed. "What language is that?" she asked quietly, "There's something familiar about it."

Tristan didn't answer at first and she opened her eyes to see that he was watching her, his expression unreadable, "It's Gildrenian." He answered after a moment, running his fingers lightly down the side of her face. She nodded, realizing that it was familiar from hearing Finn's accent. She'd never met another from Gildren.

Rory took a moment to marvel at him, at how different he was than most people thought…than she'd thought even a few months before. She had a moment to marvel at how gentle he was now compared to how rough he'd been before, at how many layers there really were to his soul.

She looked up to the ceiling, watching as the afternoon light slanted into the room, dust shimmering in it. It was a moment before either of them spoke. "Do you ever do anything?" she asked suddenly but quietly, conversationally.

Tristan nearly laughed, "What?"

She shrugged, "You're always walking around, popping up in the most random places, hiding from Paris in your study, turning down marriage proposals...do you really ever do anything, or do you just run around the castle all day?"

At that he did laugh, squeezing her against his side affectionately, "No Mary, I do absolutely nothing. Being king is boring, actually, very uneventful."

She turned, laying her palm flat across his chest to push herself up, looking down at him suspiciously, "You're mocking me."

He grinned up at her angelically, "You were mocking _me_."

She gasped in playful indignation, "It was an honest question!"

Tristan laughed, "You want to know what I do? Really?" he grabbed her upper arms and in one swift motion she was under him, her back against the ground, and he was above her, one hand on the ground to hold his weight and the other running up her thigh, sliding her leg to wrap around his waist. She laughed, but it was cut off as his lips touched her neck, silencing everything, "This." He muttered against her skin, running his hand slowly along the line of her leg, "This I could do all day." She closed her eyes, leaning her head back as she hummed quietly, running her hands over the bare expanse of his shoulders. He pulled back after only a moment, looking down at her scrutinizingly, "Honestly, though, you want to know what I do all day?"

She looked up at him, nodding slowly, "Yes."

He rolled off of her, laying on the ground beside her. She turned to her side and pushed herself up on her elbow, leaning her head on the heel of her hand to watch his profile, "I go into the city. I see the people. I read requests and complaints from citizens. I meet with Max and Logan's father and my other advisors. I work with heads of other kingdoms to avoid war and keep peace….really it's a lot of talking and writing and listening, not so much action and fighting." He turned his head to grin at her, "Unless I decide to do it, of course."

She smiled back gently, tracing her fingers along his naked chest, "I didn't realize…" she trailed off, looking down.

He grinned, watching her, "What? That I actually do anything useful?"

Her gaze snapped back up to his, "What? No!" he just kept grinning and she bit her lip, glancing down, "Well….not in such harsh words." Tristan laughed out loud, pulling her against him, and she was relieved that he obviously wasn't offended. "You never say anything about it. You never complain."

He looked down at her, surprised, "Leigh, I wouldn't want to weigh you down with it. I mean, if there were anything interesting I'm sure I'd tell you, but all this boring paper signing and saying the same thing over and over?" he shook his head, "We aren't around each other that often, and when we are I wouldn't want to spoil it with my complaints."

She looked up at him scrutinizingly, trying to figure him out, "Well who do you complain to?"

He blinked slowly, "What?"

"Do you complain to Logan? Max? Paris?"

He shook his head, "No, why would I burden them with it?"

Her eyes widened and she pushed herself up on his chest again, "Tristan, you don't complain to anyone? Ever?"

He laughed lightly at her, "Why are you so interested in this?"

"Because if you don't complain about things…." She trailed off, uncertain of what would happen, just knowing it wasn't good. "Here." She sat up, pulling him up with her, "Try it. Complain about something."

He laughed, sitting across from her, "What?"

"Do it. Just tell me something about being king that you hate. Something you think about that you wish you didn't have to do."

He shook his head, "No matter how much I complain about something it isn't going to change."

"No." she smiled at him, "But you'll feel better."

He sighed sufferingly, leaning back, "Alright, if it will make you happy…" he trailed off, thinking, "I hate going to banquets."

She nodded, "Okay. Why?"

He shrugged, "Because it's all people telling me what they think I want to hear and trying anything they can to get in my good graces. I have to be nice to people I don't like." He shot her a look and she grinned.

"Go on. Tell me something else."

He shook his head, amused, "Uhm…I hate…" he faded off, looking at the ground between them. Something flashed across his face, a sadness, but only for a moment and then it was gone. "I hate sitting in meetings and doing peace conferences."

She watched him for a moment before speaking, "That's not what you were thinking."

He looked up at her and she was taken aback by his expression. She hadn't seen him so guarded in a long time. "But it's true." Was all he said.

"Why do you hate going to them?"

"Because they're boring. And nothing new is ever agreed on."

Rory bit her lip, shifting closer to him, "What was it you were thinking before?"

It was his turn to watch her in silence, letting the space between them shimmer. After a moment he spoke quietly, his voice despondent, "There are a great many things that I don't like about being king, Leigh."

She tilted her head, "Tell me." He looked at her for another moment before sighing, dropping his head. She moved closer, touching the side of his face, "Tristan." She whispered.

He looked up at her, shaking his head lightly, "It's nothing, really." She just stared at him, unrelenting. After a moment he shrugged one shoulder, his face unreadable, "I don't like not controlling my own life."

Her head cocked back, surprised, "Controlling your own life? I can't imagine you of all people not having any control over your own life."

His eyebrow arched, "No? You think I can do whatever I want? Go wherever, whenever I want? Say whatever I think? Associate with whoever I choose? Marry whoever I love?" he shook his head, "No Leigh, having the power to say no isn't the same as having the power to say yes. I can choose what I won't do, not what I will." She looked at him, obviously confused, and so he went on, "I can say I'm not going to go somewhere people have planned for me, I can tell Finn I'm not going to meet with him to discuss the defense problems at our western borders, but I can't just decide I'm going to go to the coast with my family. I can't just leave. I can't even make plans to leave because I want to. I can refuse to answer a question or give my opinion, but do you really think that I can say what I want without dire consequences? I can refuse to associate with certain nobles but I can't befriend the villagers and the people in the city, no one would ever allow it." He sighed, his entire frame sagging as he dropped her gaze. His voice softened. "I can refuse the princess of Rivenlear, but I can't choose to marry whoever I please, Leigh. Don't you understand that?"

She looked at him in the silence that followed, her heart going out to him, "Have you ever been close to marrying?"

He laughed humorlessly, "No."

"Why?"

He looked up at her, amused but bitter, "I guess, Leigh, that I just never found anyone I wanted to spend the rest of my life with." He shrugged, "I've all but given up on marrying for love. Now I just want someone who will be a good mother to my children."

She bit her lip, watching him in silence for a moment. She could see he was miserable, but for some reason the most insane urge to ask him a question that she knew would add to it, a question that just popped into her mind. She opened her mouth slowly, pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, "Tristan." She said quietly. He looked at her, inviting her to continue, "Have you ever done anything as king that you regretted?"

His head cocked back, surprised, "What?"

"Have you ever given an order…invaded somewhere…signed something…promoted someone…turned down a proposal…had someone arrested or killed…and you regretted it after?" as she finished speaking she realized that she was looking at the ground. He didn't answer and so she looked up at him. He was watching her as if trying to decipher her meaning.

He blinked slowly, pulling his knees to his chest as well, "Have _you_ ever done something you regretted, Leigh?"

She bit her lip before pressing them together, and just looked at him. She didn't think he was really asking for an answer, and so she didn't give one. And they just sat in the dim afternoon light that filtered into the room, watching each other without speaking. ***********************************************************************

Rory sat in the kitchen later that night, laughing with Marty, Sookie, and Jackson as they finished cleaning up after the evening meal was over. Marty looked over at her, grinning widely, "So the ball for Tristan's birthday is the day after tomorrow."

"Yes, I know." She answered, rolling a spare apple around the table.

Marty leaned on the countertop across from her, not bothering to sensor himself in the nearly empty kitchen, save the four of them, "Word around the castle is the king is taking you to his birthday ball."

She shrugged, "I'm going, if that's what you mean."

He clicked his tongue, "Oh no, Leigh, I have a friend who works as a seamstress in the castle. Have you seen the dress they're making for you?"

She shook her head, "I haven't seen it. I know what it will look like, though." It was pretty, to say the least. It had been described to her as having a low square neckline, a tight fitting bodice, cap sleeves, and a much fuller skirt than she usually wore. She'd wear a white under dress covered by a larger frost-blue overdress and it would all be trimmed in silver…she could imagine it but hadn't yet seen it.

Marty smirked at her, "Well then do you know what Tristan is wearing?"

She gave him a look, "Why would I know what Tristan is wearing?"

"Because your dress is being made to match, of course." She looked at him strangely and he grinned, "Don't you know about balls? When two people go as a couple they dress to match so that everyone knows." She didn't bother telling him that she was perfectly aware of ball attire etiquette, having attended many during the first years of her life. She was more shocked that her dress was being made to match Tristan. She was sure that wasn't proper.

"Marty." Sookie called, holding up a pile of baskets, "can you take these to the storage barn outside? We won't need them with the harvest being almost over."

He took them from her, "Of course." He shot Rory a look, "This conversation isn't over. I'll be right back."

"I can't wait." She deadpanned, and he left laughing. Jackson followed him out after a look from his wife.

"Rory." Sookie hissed as soon as they were alone. She snapped her head around, still shaken by a voice belonging to someone other than Jess, Luke, Rachel, Lane, or Dave using her real name. The cook looked at her as if she were insane, "You aren't really going, are you?"

She gave Sookie a strange look, "Of course I am."

"Have you lost your mind? You can't go. You'll be recognized for sure."

Her eyes widened, "What?"

"You got lucky with Tristan's friends not recognizing you. You grew up in the city and they all live in manor houses in the country. The only one who actually lives in the city is Louise and she didn't move there until a few years after you left. But at the banquet there will be hordes of nobles from the city, people who watched you as a child and knew your parents." She shook her head, "You have too much of Lorelai in you not to be noticed."

Again Rory jumped, her mother's name having a strange effect on her. She hadn't heard the name spoken out loud in years, and Sookie just threw it around like she used it every day. "But I can't just not go. How am I supposed to explain that?"

Sookie shook her head, shrugging, "You just have to, Rory. You absolutely cannot go."

"No, you don't understand. I have to go. Anna won't let me not go. She'll force me kicking and screaming. I can't not go without a reason.

Sookie watched her, her gaze calculating, "Well, I guess I could…" she trailed off, biting her lip.

"What?"

She sighed, "I could give you something. Food prepared wrong. It will make you sick so they won't be able to make you go. You'll be miserable, but you'll be alive."

Rory's face scrunched, "Food?"

Sookie nodded, "Yes. It's painful and uncomfortable. You'll throw up and have a fever, but you can't go. I don't know what else we could do to get you out of it. The sickness will only last a day or two."

Rory crossed her arms, leaning on the counter top. She wondered how Tristan would react to her being sick, "Okay." She said quietly.

Sookie nodded, "Alright. I'll get it to you at breakfast on the day of the ball…" she trailed off, "No. No, the day before. We don't want it to seem too planned."

Rory snorted, "Sookie, no one in their right mind would plan to make themselves sick to get out of a _party_. I don't think anyone will suspect foul play."

Her late mother's best friend shot her a conspiratorial grin, "Oh Rory, Rory, Rory, you're going to hate me."

Her nose wrinkled, "I would, except that you're probably saving my life. I can't believe I didn't even think about people recognizing me there."

Sookie rested a hand on her arm gently, "Don't worry, it will all work out."

"What will all work out?" they snapped around to see Marty pushing the door open, shivering against the night wind.

Rory smiled brightly, "My dress." She held the apple in her hand up, "I'm not eating until the ball." She patted her stomach, "Wouldn't want it to be too tight."

Marty rolled his eyes, "I seriously doubt that two days of eating normally is going to make the dress too small. And two days of fasting won't make it fit if its too small now."

Rory shot Sookie a look, her face brightening, "Oh Marty." She said happily, bringing the apple to her mouth, "You're so right."


	13. Chapter 13

_**A/N: No, no dear readers, don't faint or start looking for the four horsemen, it is in fact a genuine, bona fide update less than 6 months after my last one bahahaha. It's kind of a filler chapter, cause the next one will kind of be a doozy….there's a long author's note at the end if you want some explanations about the ridiculously long time it's taking for Tristan to figure out who she is :)**_

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Sookie had been right. Rory _hated_ her.

It had taken so long for the nausea to hit her that she's started to think that Sookie had been mistaken and she wasn't going to get sick at all, but would have to think of another way out of the ball. Goodness had she been wrong. It was several hours after breakfast, almost lunch, when she'd first felt the twinge that rapidly progressed to a roiling nausea. She'd been with Madeline and Stephanie, helping them pick out ribbons to match their dresses for the banquet the next day when it hit her like a tornado, retching and paralyzing waves that made her fall to the ground gasping. She'd curled into a ball despite herself, holding her stomach and squeezing herself into as small a space as was humanly possible.

Madeline had stared at her in shock and Stephanie had started screaming for help, both thinking she was dying. In truth she'd wondered as much herself. A servant attending to Stephanie during her stay had bolted into the room, looking around wildly for what was causing the hysteria. Upon seeing Rory writhing on the floor she'd called out into the hall for the physician before falling to the ground next to her and touching her forehead, looking into her eyes. She tried to help but any efforts just made Rory scream louder. They wanted to move her to the bed but she just curled up tighter, squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head. She really wondered if Sookie had accidentally killed her.

Finn, who'd been close by and heard the screaming, had wound up carrying her gingerly to her room. Even the gentle pressure of his arms made her whimper and groan. They called for Anna and she came running, her face streaked with worry. She'd fluttered her hands around, trying to find some way to comfort the squirming girl, but could find none.

The castle physician came and ordered everyone out of the room but Anna obstinately refused to go. If Rory hadn't been overtaken by crippling waves of pain and nausea she would have been touched. Instead she cried out when the doctor touched her stomach and barely made it over the side of the bed before she threw up. Anna cried out, reaching for her, but the doctor pulled the older woman back, and the last thing Rory had seen before passing out had been the maid's panicked face.

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Tristan sat with Max, Logan, and Mitchum discussing something about uniforms or weapons or some other thing that didn't require his attention but for some reason they still felt needed it. He was staring out the window wearily, leaning back in his chair. It wasn't so hard to tune them out once they got going. Usually he didn't even give the pretence of listening to them anymore. They were on the third floor of the castle, and from the window here he could see the tops of trees, the sky with a patch of clouds moving over it, and off in the distance the beginnings of a rolling field.

His mind wondered.

When he'd woken up that morning Leigh had been in his bed again, sleeping peacefully with her legs thrown over his and his favorite pillow clutched to her chest, wrapped in one of his softest shirts and a pair of comfortable pants she'd stolen from his closet sometime in the night. It surprised him, really. More than anything it surprised him that he hadn't been angry about it. If anyone else had done it…if any other woman had had the audacity to go through his things and put on his clothes he would have been livid. But with her…he simply thought that he could wake up to it every morning and never tire of seeing her swathed in his garments. He thought it was adorable, really, that she seemed to be developing the habit of wearing his clothes.

He was pulled from his musings when someone called his name from the doorway. He glanced up to see Anna standing nervously inside the room, looking directly at him. He stood quickly, "What's wrong?" he looked her over uncertainly. She'd practically raised him and by that had engendered in him a fierce affection for her. She didn't seem injured, though.

"I'd have a word with you, your majesty." She said quietly, looking between the four men in the room.

Tristan shot her a questioning look but stood without a word, following her out of the room. Once in the hallway she looked at him squarely, lacing her hands together in front of her. "Is everything alright?" he asked once they'd shut the door.

"Ah…" she trailed off, looking up at him, "Leigh's ill. She was sick in her room…" Tristan looked at Anna for another moment before glancing out of the window…it was still morning. He felt his eyes widen involuntarily as he turned back slowly to face her. At his look she promptly rolled her eyes, scoffing, "No, she isn't pregnant; she wouldn't be having symptoms this early." She snapped, "And even if she were it wouldn't be a good thing, so remove that look of awe from your face this instant."

"What's wrong with her, then?"

Anna shrugged, "She collapsed in Stephanie's room this morning-"

"Wait, what?" Tristan cut her off, "She _collapsed_, and I'm just now being informed? How long ago was it? Did she hurt herself?"

"Calm down, Tristan. She'll be fine. I'm sure it's just something she ate or maybe she's been around someone who is sick. It should pass in a day or two."  
He shook his head lightly, "Anna, _she collapsed_, what happened?"

She shrugged, "I don't know, I wasn't there. They just said that she grabbed her stomach and fell to the floor nearly screaming."

Tristan felt his chest tighten, "And then?"

"Stephanie's maid came in and called for the physician. Prince Finn was near and he heard the screaming. They tried to help her but every time they touched her she just curled up tighter….he carried her to her room and they called me. The physician came and made the others get out but I wasn't going to leave her…" Anna trailed off uncertainly, watching Tristan through wary eyes.

"And what?" he urged her on, grabbing her shoulders gently.

Anna blinked slowly, "The doctor touched her stomach and she screamed. I hadn't heard her scream before that. She'd just been gasping…I think holding her breath made it hurt less…but when he touched her stomach she cried out and threw up…and then she fainted." She finished nervously.

"Anna!" he said loudly, gripping her shoulders tighter, "What? Are you honest? Why am I just now hearing this? Where is she? Is she still unconscious?"

"No, no, she woke up but she's resting now…not peacefully, I'm sure, but-"

"Where is she?" again he cut her off.

Anna shot him a stern look, "Tristan."

He ignored her, "Where is she now?"

"Tristan you absolutely can't go around her. What if what she has is catching?"

"Is she in her room?" he ignored her question and turned in the direction of where she was sleeping.  
"Think about this, Tristan. She needs to rest. You being there won't help her get well any faster." He ignored her and kept walking. Anna sighed frustratedly, calling after him, "Fine! But when you fall ill don't say I didn't warn you."

Tristan got to her room in record time, knocking rapidly on the door. It was opened by the physician, who looked at him in surprise, "My Lord, what can I do for you?"

"You can let me in." he said simply.

The doctor looked around to see that he was blocking the door and grimaced lightly, "Your majesty, I don't believe the girl's illness is contagious, but it may be, and I would hate for-"

"Ronald." Tristan interrupted him calmly, "Let me in."

"Ah…yes, my lord, of course." He stepped aside reluctantly, opening the door wider. Tristan stepped in to see that Leigh was on the bed, her eyes closed and her chest rising and falling rapidly. Usually when she slept she reminded him of what the clouds in heaven must look like…calmly blowing around in the sky, smooth and warm and soft. That wasn't how she looked now. Rather, now, she looked like a tempest over an angry ocean, her breathing rough and rapid, her hair matted to her forehead and neck, sweat glistening over her skin as she tossed and turned in a fitful slumber.

Seeing her like that made something tighten in his chest and he looked over at the doctor, "What's the matter with her?"

He shrugged one shoulder, "It could be a number of things."

"She's going to be alright though, isn't she?" he asked, a note of tension in his voice.

Ronald opened his mouth, uncertain of how to respond. Being wrong could have disastrous consequences. "I would presume she'll recover shortly, I think it's just a bout of seasonal irritation with the sudden cold. Or it could be something she ate. She could just be exhausted…" he trailed off, "She should recover, though, I can't imagine she won't."

Tristan nodded lightly, taking a step towards her bed, "Thank you. Is there anything else you can do for her? Anything to make her more comfortable?"

He shook his head, "No. Any type of movement causes her pain, so if your goal is to make her as comfortable as possible, I wouldn't suggest touching her." He looked at the girl in the bed, "There really isn't much we can do. She'll just have to wait it out."

Tristan bit the insides of his cheeks, turning towards the bed as she whimpered, shifting violently in her sleep. "Thank you, Ronald." He said quietly before stepping towards the bed, effectively dismissing the doctor.

He heard the door close as Ronald left.

Tristan walked over to Leigh's vanity and picked up the chair, bringing it over to sit next to her bed. He sat down heavily, leaning his elbows on his knees. His head dropped down. He didn't understand. He couldn't figure out why in the world he was worried for her. A girl. A simple, country girl who had somehow learned to wield a sword with shocking precision. Who made him weak in his knees and burned so bright that she cast a shadow over the sun.

Why was he worried for her, though? According to Anna and Ronald she wasn't even that sick. But looking at her now…her forehead, neck, and chest glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, her hair was cast violently over the pillow from where she writhed in her sleep, and her hands and arms moved constantly in her slumber, gripping the sheets and flexing as if through pain. She made small noises in her sleep as well, cries and whimpers. She shuddered occasionally, curling in on herself.

Watching her like this made him hurt.

Tristan nearly jumped when a small whine came from the other side of the room. He twisted in his chair to see the puppy he'd given her, cowering in the corner. From the way it was trembling it seemed as if the small dog had watched all the activity from its corner, too frightened to make a sound. It saw him watching it and the shaking intensified. He leaned over, one hand close to the ground, and whistled to the dog, calling it to him. It pushed itself harder against the wall. Tristan swore under his breath. What was it Leigh had named it? Something that had made him laugh. Something…something… "Duke?" he called quietly. The dog sharpened. Tristan whistled softly again, not wanting to wake the sleeping girl, "Duke, here boy." The puppy crept forward cautiously, uncertain that he was frightened of Tristan now that he knew his name. He called the dog again and this time it reached him, touching its nose to his hand curiously before licking his fingers. Tristan picked the dog up gently, holding it in his lap, and it burrowed into his stomach, rubbing its head against his shirt. He looked down at it, understanding why Leigh had liked it so much, petting its back slowly.

He wasn't sure how long he sat watching her, but the shadows outside had moved considerably when she made a sound that wasn't one of sleep. She woke slowly, moving stiffly and impained. Tristan leaned forward anxiously. She shifted again, opening her eyes slowly. She stared up at the ceiling for a moment, her eyes tight with pain, before sensing him by the bed.

She turned her head slowly, looking at him evenly, "Tristan?"

He smiled lightly, "Hey."

Her forehead scrunched in confusion, "But…what are you doing here?"

"I heard you fainted." He said quietly, looking over her, "That you were sick. How do you feel?"

She opened her mouth, considering for a moment, "Like hell."

He laughed quietly, glad that she was talking, "Well that's no good."

Leigh shook her head, resting it back on the pillow sideways to look at him, "Aren't you supposed to be doing kingly things?"

"I was, and trust me, sitting here with your dog was much more entertaining than where I was before."

She looked down to see her small dog curled up in his lap and amusement flashed across her face, "He _is_ a keeper."

Tristan smiled, setting the dog on the bed next to her, "He is."

Rory glanced out of the window and her face scrunched, "But it's almost night. I fell asleep late this morning." Tristan nodded solemnly. She turned to face him, sitting up, "How long have you been here?"

He shrugged one shoulder, "A while."

She shot him a look, though it was marred with pain, "Protecting me and watching out for me. That's so adorable." She broke off slowly, turning her face away from him.

Tristan stood swiftly, touching her face, "Are you alright?"

She kept her face turned away from him, sliding it out of his hand, "I'm fine." Her voice was tight. Another dizzying round of cramps was invading her entire torso.

He didn't try to touch her again, but sat on the side of the bed, "You're sweating."

Rory let out a strangled laugh, "Yes, well it hurts."

Tristan pulled his long sleeve down so that it covered his hand and he used it to gently wipe her slick brow, taking the sweat with it, "Mary, Mary, Mary." He whispered helplessly. She let out a small sound in reply, leaning over to rest her forehead against the bed and pull herself into a tight ball. He looked down at her, swearing silently, before glancing around the room.

On the hearth, warming by the fire, he saw a pot. "That looks like one of Anna's remedies." He said quietly.

She looked up, her eyes narrowed, with her arms still tight around her abdomen, "Yes. She gave it to me earlier to help me sleep."

Tristan gave her a short look before walking over to the fireplace and pulling a cup from the mantle. He poured the tea into it, smelling honey, and brought it back to her, blowing on it. He held it out, "Here, drink it."

She shot him a look, "But I've been asleep all day."

He shook his head lightly, "Yes, and now you're awake and you look as if you're dying from the inside. Drink."

Rory let out a long, controlled breath that shook lightly and sat up completely, taking the cup from him, "Thank you."

"It's just a drink." He said quietly as she raised the mug to her lips.

She looked at him over the rim, her face still tight, "I wasn't talking about the drink." She muttered before touching her lips to the glass and drinking shallowly.

Tristan sat back on the side of the bed, trailing his fingers over the cover uselessly, tracing his fingers down her leg through the material, "It was nothing." She tried to smile but couldn't. "Does it really hurt that bad?"

She looked up at him, pulling the cup from her lips, "Have you ever had a cramp in one of your muscles? Mainly in the arch of your foot or your leg? They seem like they never go away but really they only last for a few seconds, but in that time they wake you up wanting to scream, only it hurts so much that you can't make a sound?" her voice was quiet.

Tristan nodded slowly, "I got them when I was seventeen and eighteen, yes."

"Well its like that." She said quietly, "Only it hurts when I breathe or move and I'm sick but there's nothing in my stomach to get rid of and it still won't go away." She sighed, bringing the cup back to her lips, "And it doesn't only last a few seconds." She muttered under her breath, making him smile wryly.

Rory drained the cup and held it out to him, smacking her lips unnecessarily. He smiled lightly at her, taking the cup from her, "How do you feel?"

She scrunched her nose, baring her teeth at him and squinting her eyes.

He laughed out loud, "That good, huh?"

"Eugh." She groaned, falling on the bed. She laid still for a moment. "Ow."

He touched her arm lightly, "Lay down."

Again she bared her teeth at him, clicking them twice, "_You_ lay down."

He cocked a grin at her, pushing her to the mattress gently, "You are in no state for what would happen if I laid in this bed."

Her laughter caught on a stab of pain.

"Is the tea helping at all?" he asked gently.

"It will soon. It dulls the pain enough for me to sleep." She exhaled heavily, pressing her hand over her eyes.

Tristan held her hand gently, pulling it away from her face to lace her fingers with his, "I have to go. I told Mitchum I'd meet him hours ago."

Rory tilted her head, clicking her tongue, "Slacking on your duties…tsk tsk tsk."

He rolled his eyes, "Go to sleep."

"Mmmmh." She closed her eyes, relaxing back into the mattress, "Goodnight."

Tristan smiled down at her still form. She was already relaxing. He leaned down, laying a slow kiss on her forehead. She shifted, mumbling something content. Tristan pulled away softly, surprised that her forehead was once again coated in sweat. "Goodnight." He whispered back.

He stood up to leave and he was halfway to the door when he heard her speak quietly, "Tristan?"

He turned around, "Yes, Leigh?"

She sighed, already half asleep, "Happy early birthday."

He stood looking at her, a bundle of covers and pillows and flowing brown hair, for a moment, surprised. She didn't move again or say anything else. And so he turned quietly, closing the door behind him.

**********************************************

Rory woke late the next morning, feeling shockingly refreshed. She pushed herself up slowly, looking around the room. She was alone. She rubbed her eyes, shaking her head rapidly. Alone. Anna was gone.

She turned to step off the bed and sat right back down, a wave of nausea overtaking her. Maybe she wasn't quite healed yet. It wasn't as bad as it had been the night before though. She looked around the room again, still trying to figure out what was going on, when the door opened and a young maid came in, smiling brightly, "Good morning Miss Leigh! How are you feeling today?"

Rory stared at her, eyes narrowed. She'd never seen anyone so chipper in the morning. "Who…" she shook her head lightly, trailing off.

"I'm Tina." She supplied happily.

That hadn't been Rory's question. It had been more along the lines of….who the hell is smiling that brightly before lunch? "Where is Anna?" she asked slowly.

Tina was already bustling around the room, pulling back the curtains to the window and swirling the water in a large metal basin warming next to the fire. "Oh, she wasn't feeling well and she didn't want to make you any worse, so she's staying the servant's wing today.

Rory still stared at her, her face scrunched in confusion. She hadn't moved since the girl had entered the room. Anna was sick? Anna didn't _get sick_. She watched the girl bounce around the room.

"Come on, into the bath."

Rory didn't move.

She stepped toward her, "Come on Miss Leigh, into the bath."

"Uhm, no." Rory held a hand out, scooting further back onto the bed as the girl came closer, "No, I don't think so."

Tina gave her a strange look, "What's wrong?"

"I don't, ehh…I don't take my clothes off in front of people." She said lamely.

The girl shot her a look, "Now, now, it's just a bath. I'm sure you don't have anything I don't."

Rory laughed out loud at that, then clutched her stomach, swearing at herself. "I just…I don't like taking my clothes off in front of people."

Tina put her hands on her hips, tilting her head, "I have my directions and I'm not leaving until you take a bath. Really it's not that bad."

Rory sighed, kneeling on the bed. "I'll get in if you leave."

Her head cocked back, surprised, "What?"

Rory leaned forward seeing an opening, "Honest. I hate taking my clothes off in front of people. I can do it myself."

The girl looked at her uncertainly, "I don't know…"

"It will be fine." Rory coaxed, crawling off the bed, "I'll be quick, I'll put on my slip and call you back in. I won't say anything, if anyone asks, though I doubt they would, I'll say I knocked you out." She smiled lightly at the girl's shocked look, pleased with herself despite the stabbing pain in her stomach, "Don't worry, I won't actually hit you."

"I…" she trailed off.

Rory smiled encouragingly, shooing her towards the door, "It will be fine." They were almost to the door when she glanced over to her vanity and slowed, narrowing her eyes. There was a nightgown thrown over the chair that hadn't been there before. She nodded towards it, "Do you know what that's for?"

Tina looked over, surprised, "The nightgown?" Rory nodded. "It's yours. Anna stayed up all night with you and she said that you kept tossing and turning and that you were soaked with sweat. She changed your nightgown so you wouldn't catch a chill."

Rory froze.

She felt the ground fall from under her.

Anna had changed her clothes while she slept?

Suddenly the pain in her stomach was barely noticeable.

The young maid looked up at her, "Miss Leigh, are you alright?"

She looked over at the girl, dazed, "Yes. Yes, I'm fine."

************************************

Rory sat by her window that night staring resolutely out into the dark night. Torches and handing lanterns decorated the lawn. She could hear the party goers from her spot next to the open window. She watched as groups of people went from the lawn into the ballroom and back out, laughing and talking and drinking. She knew, realistically, that she should be glad she wasn't there, but really she wished that she were.

Stephanie, Madeline, and Finn had come in throughout the day, whining to her about how they wished she would come, even if just for a little while. And she wanted to, she did. She even felt better. Her cramps were almost completely gone and the nausea was just a twinge, but she told them that she still wasn't up to it and eventually Logan had come in and thrown them out, saying that she needed her rest. She'd been sitting in her room all day, rearranging everything and going through all of her clothes, reading books. Without the crippling pain of the day before to distract her she'd just had nagging cramps and boredom to keep her company after Logan had thrown the others out. Anna had never come back. Rory didn't know what to think. Surely she'd finally seen her crest? But why hadn't she done anything about it yet?

She sat now, looking between the twinkling lights on the lawn and the stars in the sky, sitting in the windowsill and sighing, wrapped in a blanket as the cool night autumn wind blew her hair behind her shoulders. She rested her head against the cold stone, sighing. But she was suddenly pulled from her thoughts by a quiet knock on the door followed by it being pushed open without waiting for an invitation. She twisted around, surprised to see Tristan walking in. Marty hadn't been pulling her leg when he'd said that her dress had been made to match Tristan's clothes. He had on a rich, elaborately stitched shirt in the same ice blue that her dress was made out of, trimmed with silver like hers was. It fell over him perfectly, outlining his defined shoulders and chest. His pants were dark blue and tucked into black boots, which hit the carpet covered stone heavily as he moved.

He saw her and shot a crooked grin at the look on her face, closing the door quietly before walking over to her, "Hi." He laid a playful kiss on her open mouth.

She stared up at him in shock, "What….your party…" she motioned towards the lawn below.

"Bah." He waved a hand, sitting across from her on the windowsill, "The party isn't important."

She looked up at him, "But Max has been planning this banquet for weeks."

He tilted his head, looking down at the lantern-strewn lawn, "And Max is thoroughly enjoying it, let me tell you."

"But you're missing it."

He glanced up at her, his lip quirking, "Forget the party, Leigh, I'll go back in a minute. Do you feel any better?"

"Yes, actually." She smiled brightly, pulling the cover tighter around her, "The cramps are almost gone and the nausea is barely noticeable anymore."

He smiled warmly at her, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. She wasn't clammy anymore, "Yeah?"

She nodded, shifting closer to him, "Mhmm. I guess the physician was right. It was only a day or two."

"That's good." He said quietly, trailing his fingers gingerly down the side of her face. It was strange to him, to have to be gentle with her. He was a lot of times, just out of habit, but really he thought of her as one of the toughest people he knew. She had to be in order to take the beatings she did on a regular basis. To have to be easy with her because he would hurt her was a new phenomenon.

She looked away from him, smiling to herself, "How is your banquet?"

He dropped his hand, shrugging, "It's alright." She shot him a look, arching one eyebrow. His lip quirked, "Well, you would enjoy it, I think. Everyone would enjoy it more if you were there…" he trailed off, nodding his head from side to side. "I swear, Madeline and Stephanie have been drinking and falling all over each other talking about how sad they are that you couldn't come."

Rory laughed, "Aww." He grinned at her but didn't say anything. She tilted her head, looking at him through hooded eyes, "Would _you_ enjoy it more if I were there?"

"Ehh…" he trailed off thoughtfully, rubbing his chin, "You know there are so many girls from court down there…"

"Tristan!" she yelled, annoyed even though she knew he was kidding. She swung her arm out to hit him without thinking, but he caught her wrist, laughing as he pulled her into his lap. There was a stab of pain through her abdomen, though it wasn't bad enough to make her pull away. But she did push him away for good measure, knowing perfectly well that he'd just pull her back. And he did, not letting her get away from him at all.

He held her against his chest; his arms might have been stone for all the progress she made pushing against him. He just laughed, kissing the crown of her head, "But none of them nearly so captivating as you, Leigh."

She rolled her eyes but relaxed into him, resting the side of her head against his shoulder and pressing her face into his neck, "You never answered my question." She mumbled against his skin.

She felt his body shake with laughter, "Yes, Leigh, I would enjoy the party immensely more if you were there."

Rory hit his stomach lightly, "Stop being facetious."

Tristan slid his fingers through her hair, sending tingles down her spine. He kissed her neck slowly, "I'm not." He breathed into her ear.

She shivered against him, the heat he kindled in her contrasting sharply with the cramps. She didn't know what to think. He held her close, running his fingers through her hair. "Happy birthday." She whispered after a comfortable silence, slipping her fingers under his shirt to trail over his washboard abdomen. She felt him shiver.

He chuckled quietly, "Thank you."

Rory closed her eyes, relaxing completely into him. The combination of his warmth and his scent and the constant rise and fall of his chest lulled her into a near sleep. All she knew was that she was somewhere between slumber and wakefulness when he shifted, sitting up straighter and nudging her gently, "Mary." He whispered into her ear.

She didn't open her eyes, "Hmm?"

"I should go back."

"Mhmm."

He laughed gently, standing without jostling her, "That means I have to leave."

"Heeeey." She said quietly, opening her eyes as he laid her in the bed.

He laughed, leaning down to capture her lips in a long, deep kiss. He pulled away slowly, "I'll see you in the morning."

She smiled warmly, "See you in the morning."

Tristan brushed her hair back gently, kissing her forehead before shooting her a smile and leaving quietly. Rory smiled, relaxing into the covers when the door banged open again. She grinned, speaking as she sat up, "I thought you had to get—oh" she broke off, her head cocking back. Tina stood in the doorway. "What?"

The maid glanced behind her, "Was that the king?"

"Yes…" she said slowly, uncertain of why that was interesting. It wasn't like everyone didn't know about them.

Tina looked out into the hallway Tristan had disappeared down. She looked back to Rory, "Did you two…" she trailed off suggestively.

Rory's eyes widened, "What? _No!_" she shook her head, "Why would you even ask that?"

Tina sighed, her body deflating, "Because, Max Medina told me to send you to the king's room tonight. But I didn't know if you were up to it. I was thinking that if you two…" again she trailed off, "That if you two did now then you wouldn't need to go later tonight." She shrugged, "But I guess you will."

Rory's eyes narrowed, "_Max_ told you to send me to Tristan's room?" She nodded vigorously. Rory rolled her eyes, sighing, "Ridiculous."

Tina stepped farther into the room, closing the door behind her, "The banquet will be over soon, so you should probably go ahead and change."

Rory's gaze snapped up, "Into what?"

The girl walked over to Rory's closet and pulled out a long form fitting nightgown. She brought it over and Rory ran her hand over it gingerly. It was made out of something she'd never worn before, a soft silky material. Tina turned while she pulled her nightgown over her head and slipped the new one on. It fell to the floor and hugged her body all over, the neckline dipping dangerously low. She slipped her fingers under the thin straps, sighing. This was ridiculous. Tristan would rip it off in about ten seconds anyway.

Tina attempted to give her face and chest a layer of powder but Rory bared her teeth at her and she shrinked back. She did insist on walking Rory to Tristan's room, however, to make sure she actually went.

Once they were there Rory promptly closed the door in Tina's face, resting her back against the door to Tristan's lounge and sighing, closing her eyes. She'd never been alone in Tristan's room and would have loved to have looked around, but she didn't have the energy. Her body was still wiped out. And so she walked slowly into the room. She glanced at the couch, considering laying on it, before deciding against it and walking towards the bedroom. She pushed the door open, sighing quietly as she stepped into the dark room. She didn't need any light to find the bed and she collapsed into the blankets and pillows, closing her eyes. She was sure Tristan would wake her when he came in….

*************************************************

Rory slowly became aware of the sunlight heating her body the next morning. She shifted slowly, smiling to herself when not even a twinge of pain throbbed in her stomach. She stretched, her body warm. Her back and left side were still warm, the bed next to her still pressed in from where Tristan had lain last night. Somehow she had the impression that she'd slept with his chest pushed against her back, his arm thrown over her waist to hold her close.

Rory thought about it…tried to remember the previous night after she'd laid down to wait for him…and nothing. She pushed herself up, looking around the room. She still had on the nightgown she'd passed out in.

She turned to see that Tristan was sitting in a chair next to the bed, pulling on his boots. He looked up, hearing her move, and smiled lightly, amused at something she didn't get. "Good morning."

She watched him, still confused, "You didn't wake me up."

He smirked, "You looked so comfortable. I didn't want to…" he trailed off, laughing at whatever had completed the thought.

"What?"

He shook his head, "I didn't want to wake you, but you did wake up a little when I got into the bed."

She didn't understand why this was funny, "Did I?"

He nodded, still grinning, "You talk when you're half awake."

She sat up on her knees, looking at him, "Did I say anything bad?" it had to have been bad for him to still be laughing about it.

Tristan finished pulling on his shoe and looked up at her warmly, "Well, you informed me that I take up too much room and steal all the blankets."

Rory gasped, clasping her hands over her mouth, "_I didn't_."

He laughed out loud, "You did. And you also told me that there wasn't enough room for both of us on the bed but that I was more than welcome to sleep on the floor."

Her eyes widened, "You aren't serious."

He watched her, amused. His eyebrow arched, "You don't think so?"

She bit her lip, pulling her hands away from her mouth, "Did I?" her voice was small.

"You did."

The nervous twinge in her stomach was fading. Telling the king he was welcome to sleep on the floor could cost you your head, but Tristan wasn't angry at all. He wasn't even annoyed. He was just laughing at her. "And nothing even happened?"

He snorted lightly, shaking his head, "No. Nothing happened."

So she'd slept in his bed last night. He'd held her close and hadn't even gotten any sex out of her….she didn't know what to think of that. People didn't just sleep in the king's bed, especially if all they did was sleep. She looked him over to see that he was dressed, "Where are you going?"

"I have to meet with Finn. They're leaving this morning."

Rory bit her lip, tilting her head thoughtfully, "Do you have to go right now?"

Tristan smirked, standing, "What?"

She held a hand out towards him, beckoning him closer. He came forward, resting his hand on her hips. She spoke slowly, twining her arms around his neck, "Is this meeting absolutely necessary? Do you have to be on time?" she trailed her fingers over his shoulders and down his chest, "Because if you can be late, I'll make it up to you…" she trailed off, biting her lip.

He slid his hands down her sides slowly, languidly, "_Mary_." His voice was a tortured groan, "Don't tempt me."

She laughed, leaning forward to kiss him slowly. He kissed her back harder, trailing his hands over her body and pulling her closer. Rory grinned against his lips, twining her arms back around his neck. He kissed her deeply, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth as his hands slid up her arms. His fingers slipped under the thin straps of her nightgown and she gasped in shock, breaking her lips from his when, in one fluid motion, he pulled them down over her shoulders, peeling the cloth down to her ribs and leaving most of her upper body bare. Tristan chuckled lasciviously and took her open mouth in his, one of his hands coming up to hold her head in place so she couldn't pull away again. His other arm wound back around her, pulling her close again as his mouth fused harder to hers.

He broke away to trail his lips over her jaw and down her neck, scraping his teeth along the sensitive skin. Rory shivered at that, but she couldn't hold back a gasp as he pushed her up with the hand on her back, his lips tracing down her shoulder to her chest. He laid a trail of hot, open-mouthed kissed over her collarbone before his lips touched the swell of her breast, already making her arch violently up into him.

She felt his body shudder, partly from a laugh and partly from something else that she assumed had to do with the fact that she could already feel him pressed hard against her center. He scraped his teeth over the pale skin, the hand on her back pulling her closer. Rory squirmed as his mouth danced tantalizingly around her chest, never hitting home. But his firm grip held her in place.

"_Tristan…_" she protested, pushing her hips against his.

He broke away, coming to look at her with a shining grin, not letting her wriggle away from him, "Yes, Mary?"

Usually she would have replied with some annoyed, biting remark, but instead she crashed her lips against his, catching him off guard. He kissed her back readily, though, letting her pull him onto the bed and push him down on his back. She climbed on top of him without breaking the kiss, straddling him. One of his hands came up to tangle in her hair and hold her close while the other slid up her hip to hold her firmly in place, pushed intimately against him.

Rory pushed her hips down, grinding against Tristan slowly. His grip on her hair and her hip tightened and he swore under his breath, pulling her lips harder to his. She felt herself grin against him. She rocked her hips again and this time he cursed out loud, pushing up against her as he pulled her down.

Rory broke her lips from his and had just touched them to his neck when she felt him break his grip on her. His hands came up in one fluid motion to pull the straps of her nightgown back over her shoulders and without missing a beat he grabbed and her and twisted, pressing her back against the bed and pushing himself off of her to stand.

"What?!" she pushed herself up on her elbows and glared at him, her chest heaving.

He looked down at her in disbelief for a moment, his breathing labored as well, before a grin of acknowledgement cracked his lips. He shook his head, exhaling in a heavy breath before turning, "_Touché_." He muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

"What?" this time she was just confused.

He turned back to her, "Fine, I did it to you, you do it to me, I get it."

She still stared up at him in confusion, her hair falling around her in disheveled waves. It took her a moment to think through her muddled mind and make sense of what he was saying, "You think I was _getting back_ at you?" she asked, shocked.

He looked at her, uncertain for a moment, "Weren't you?"

She almost laughed, "No. I was just annoyed. I don't…" she trailed off, "I don't think straight enough when you do that to come up with the idea to get back at you."

A grin broke over his face, "So when I annoy you your natural reaction is to throw me on the bed and climb on top of me?"

She shot him an offended look, "I didn't say that."

He smirked, "Yes you did."

"_You're_ infuriating." She snapped, faking anger, and he laughed out loud, leaning forward to kiss her, but she turned away so his lips landed on her cheek. He didn't let it faze him and without breaking his lips from her cheek he wrapped his arms around her and tackled her into the mattress, collapsing on top of her. He didn't support any of his weight so it all fell of her; he continued to place light, annoying kisses all over her face but avoided her mouth as his weight slowly crushed her. She tried to push him off but it was no use, so she let out a strangled groan but it was muffled against the covers, "_Augh you're flattening me_."

He broke his mouth from hers, "What darling? I'm sorry, I can't hear you with your face pressed into the bed."

She turned her head so that her face was barely an inch from his, though the lust fueled air had left them and was replaced with a lighter, more congenial one. Even this close she really didn't have any urge to kiss him, "I _said_, you're being exceptionally obnoxious this morning."

Tristan just laughed and rolled off of her, but kept his grip on her so that she was pulled across his chest, "Are you feeling better today?"

She nodded, resting her head on his chest and closing her eyes, "Mhmm."

"Good." He kissed the crown of her head affectionately and rolled her off of him, standing, "I do have to go though."

Rory pushed herself off the bed too, "I need to go get dressed, I guess."

He turned at that, looking her over slowly. He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head thoughtfully, "Why in the world would you change out of that?"

She laughed, hitting his arm lightly, "Obnoxious."

Tristan shot her grin before leaning down to kiss her lightly, "Do whatever you want. I have to go, so I'll see you later today."

She kissed him back, mumbling against his lips, "Mmm. Bye."

He gave her a last smile before leaving the room. She heard him close the door that went from the lounge to the corridor outside his suite. Rory sat heavily on the bed before glancing around the room. It looked like she'd be going back in the nightgown. It wasn't like she wasn't used to the looks by now. She glanced over to his closet and thought momentarily about changing into something of his. It would cover more skin, but cause much more of a stir and earn her more looks. His robe was draped on the back of his closet door, she knew, but that would have been unnecessarily ostentatious. After a moment of deliberation she decided to throw on one of his more informal shirts just to cover the low cut neckline.

She left his room quietly, making her way back to her own room as quickly as possible and taking pains to avoid running into people. The stares and whispers were annoying enough without adding fuel to the fire.

Tristan's friends were leaving that morning and she wanted to say goodbye to some of them so once she got dressed she would go downstairs, but she was going to have to work on her own to get into one of her dresses, which was easier said than done considering that practically all of them corseted up the back.

And that was what she was thinking about when she came to her room and pushed the door open, only to scream quietly and jump back. Anna was there. Sitting in a rocking chair. Glowering. Rory stood in the doorway, staring at her. She'd never thought of Anna as capable of inflicting much more harm than plain annoyance. She wasn't so sure now. The way the old woman looked at her made her want to turn around and run back.

Instead she bit her lip lightly, stepping into the room and closing the door, "Hi." She said quietly. Anna didn't answer. Rory cleared her throat, "Are you feeling better?" Again nothing. They sat in silence.

After a stretch of staring up at her Anna spoke quietly, "What is your name?"

Rory shook her head, feigning confusion, "What?"

"What is your name?"

She laughed lightly, nervously, "You know my name."

Anna stared at her steadily, "_Leigh Danes_." She said quietly, scornfully, "A common village girl. Though I can't for the life of me think of why a common village girl would have the family crest of one of the oldest lines of nobility in our kingdom burned into her hip." Rory swallowed hard, but stood up straighter, raising her chin. She said nothing. Anna looked at her evenly, "What is your name, Lady Hayden?"

Rory watched her, unmoving. Lady Hayden. No one had called her that in ten years. "My name," she said quietly, looking at the old woman before her, "Is Duchess Lorelai Leigh Gilmore-Hayden."

Anna's body tensed and she stood, "So then it's true." She whispered. Rory nodded, but said nothing. "The last of the Gilmores and Haydens. The youngest of Christopher Hayden's children. You really did survive."

Rory raised her chin another hair, "Yes."

Anna looked at her, "How?"

"My parents got me out of the city before they were killed." She said quietly, her voice emotionless.

The old woman looked at her, shaking her head, "Why?" her voice was tight.

Rory shook her head, confused, "Why what?"

"Why are you here?" she asked as if Rory were an idiot for it. And really, she couldn't blame her, "You survived, unbelievably, and then you come back to the city. Into the castle. Do you not have any regard for your own life?"

Rory looked down, "I had to come, you know that. I didn't want to. Why do you think my father fought so hard to keep me in Stars Hollow?"

Anna's voice was void of inflection, "Your father is dead." Rory flinched, but said nothing. There was nothing _to_ say. And more than anything she didn't want to provoke Anna, not now that she knew the truth. Because contrary to appearances, she did have regards as to her own life. "What does Tristan say?"

She blinked, surprised, as she looked up, "What?"

Anna looked at her, "What does Tristan say about it? What has he said to you? Does he not care?"

Rory shook her head lightly, confused, "He doesn't know."

Anna's eyes narrowed, "What do you mean he doesn't know? How can he possibly have missed it?"

"You missed it." She said quietly, pressing her back against the closed door.

Anna nodded thoughtfully, watching Rory, her gaze calculating. "He doesn't know…" she trailed off questioningly.

Rory saw the gears in her mind turning and she lunged forward, grabbing the woman's hand. She fell to her knees. Anna jumped in surprise but Rory didn't release her, "You can't tell him." She said quietly. She didn't reply. "Anna." She snapped, pulling on the woman's hand, "Please, please, I beg you. You _cannot_ tell him."

She looked down to the girl on the floor, conflicting emotions chasing each other across her face, "Leigh--" she broke off, shaking her head, "Lorelai, I can't. I will not lie to the king."

"You don't have to. You don't have to say anything to him at all. Just don't tell him."

She still shook her head, looking away from Rory, "I can't…" she trailed off.

"Anna, please." She implored, standing, taking the maid's face in her hands, "Please, please, _please_, don't tell him."

Anna looked up at her, "He'll find out eventually." She said quietly.

Rory shook her head, "Please, if you ever had any affection for me, don't tell him."

The old woman sighed. Something in her face had softened, "It isn't a thing of the past, Lorelai. I still do have affection for you." She looked at her imploringly, "But this, this lying, this hiding, it will only make it worse for you in the end." Rory bit her lip, but said nothing. Finally Anna spoke, "I won't tell him. But if he asks me, I will not lie."

Rory nodded rapidly, unable to believe this was happening. That Anna wasn't going to tell. "Okay, alright. Of course, of course you must." She grabbed Anna and hugged her, squeezed her to her chest and held her so close the old woman gasped. Anna patted her back gingerly, resting her hands on Rory's shoulders, which, from her, was kind of like a bear hug. She pulled back, looking into the maid's face. "And Anna?" she said quietly.

"Yes?"

"My family and friends call me Rory."

*****************************************

**_A/N: So I know it isn't as long as the past few have been, but this was kind of a stopping point considering the next chapter is going to have a lot happening in it…._**

_2) And I know, I know, it seems like it's taking forever for her identity to come out, but really there was no way she would have ever told Tristan. Regardless of how much affection he seemed to have for her, he's the king and her father killed his father. You don't make decisions like revealing that you're the daughter of the man who murdered the king when you're supposed to have died ten years before, just cause the king is getting some nookie._

**3) She wouldn't have told him and before they started sleeping together and there was no way he would have ever even had an opportunity to see her crest, and as of this moment in the story they've only been at it for a few days…. a grand total of 4 times, and it isn't like she's walking around him in the nude. AND he wouldn't exactly be looking for it, he thinks all the Haydens are dead and even if they weren't, why would one be in his bed?**

_4) AND, the fact that it takes so long for him to find out who she is, and that so much has happened between them, is kind of the point of the fic. If he just kind of liked her, or if he'd just kissed her once or twice, finding out who she is would be a very different experience than it will be with all that's happened._

**5) However, on that note, lol, I know the wait is frustrating to you guys, I promise it is to me too, but I'm about 99.999% positive that the reveal is going to be in like, the next chapter or so, I'll have to see how the writing goes but never fear, it's coming up very soon. And the next chapter should be up kind of fast also, considering that _writing trory love is way more important than homework_, and my classes this semester start relatively late in the morning, which leaves plenty of time for staying up into the wee hours of the morning writing :)**


	14. Chapter 14

Rory stood next to Logan, shuffling her feet on the dry, crackling grass. Most of the members of the old guard who were at the castle stood behind them, waiting. One of the soldiers patrolling the castle grounds and the surrounding forest had reported that the first returning group of the king's new guard was close to the castle. She wondered who it was, but Logan was much more anxious that she was. Most of the men blended together in her mind, the only ones who stood out were Callum, Nick, and Dorian. There was one more who stood out, McKellin, who'd been lewd and crude and despicable to her in the beginning until Mark, a member of the old guard who'd recognized her talent and respected her from the beginning, had punched him in the face, flooring him in front of everyone. She hadn't seen it, but according to Callum it had been glorious.

Logan stood up straighter next to her, craning his neck, "I see them." He smirked lightly, shaking his head, "Surprise, surprise."

Rory looked up to see four men coming down the path to the castle from the woods beyond the military wing. The first thing that caught her eye was a mop of dusty blonde hair and she almost had to laugh. Callum. He and Nick walked in the front, flanked by Dorian and another of the younger recruits. She couldn't say she was surprised that they were the first back. They looked tired but strong, their walk steady and unhurried. She saw them survey their homecoming party slowly as the four men came up level with them.

Rory smiled hugely as Callum caught her eye, unable to hold it back. He grinned back and she saw fatigue that she hadn't noticed before. Nick, who seemed to be leading them, came even with Logan and bowed lightly. Logan dropped a bow back. When the two stood back up they were grinning at each other and the formal air that had been hanging over the gathering fled. The men of the old guard came forward, clapping the four of them on the back in congratulations. Callum stepped towards her and she laughed out loud as he swept her up into a huge hug, pulling her from the ground and spinning her in wide circles. "You did good." She said, still smiling as he set her down.

He scoffed, smirking weakly, "Give me something hard next time, Danes."

She laughed out loud, "I think if you looked any worse the undertaker would steal you from us."

He shot her a wounded look, "Hey! I have been trekking through the wilderness for the past week. I have the right to be disgusting." He looked her up and down, "You're looking awfully pampered these days. Are you going soft on us?"

"Watch your tongue." She hit his shoulder lightly, "I can't still whip you."

He grinned, "Give me two days and I'll be back in form. I've been living off roots and rabbit for two days."

She rolled her eyes, "Rabbit?"

"Yes, _rabbit_." He stressed the word, "We would've killed a deer but there was no time, what with the race to get back and the ungodly attacks by the old guard. I swear I thought I might kill myself and save them the trouble if only to put myself out of misery."

She laughed, opening her mouth to reply, but was cut off as Dorian jumped in, grabbing her from behind.

*************************************

Rory sat between Logan and Tristan at dinner later that week, running her fingers along the rim of her cup. She's progressed to the higher table in the dining room, sitting on a long table set up on a platform. This table wasn't rectangle like the others, rather it was long and they all sat in a line facing the rest of the room: her, Tristan, Mitchum, Max, Logan, and the head of the old guard. The old guard and new men sat at two different, lower tables. They didn't normally dine together, but because the men had completed a phase of their training they'd made an exception.

She'd spent the meal poking at her food and pushing it around her plate, drinking her wine in small sips. It was strange, having Nick, Callum, and Dorian back now after she and Tristan had….well, it was just strange. She didn't know what to think. Callum had come up to her earlier, the smuggest of smirks plastered across his face, and asked her what these rumors were that he was hearing about her and the king. He said they sounded more legitimate the ones before they'd left. After telling him that they were indeed true, his expression had changed. He'd no longer been amused, only shocked. And what surprised her most…concerned. Concerned that she didn't want it. That she would get hurt.

She'd assumed that of everyone, Callum would be the giddiest about her and Tristan, laughing and picking on her mercilessly. But he wasn't. His reaction reminded her of how Jess might have reacted: shocked and then protective. He might even have considered ripping Tristan's head off…had he not been king. As it was, he'd watched her attentively, his eyebrows drawn together and his arms crossed over his chest. It threw her off. He was really the first one who had addressed the fact that she might come out of it emotionally damaged. Everyone else was only concerned with keeping her ready and available for Tristan. No one else had so fully implied that it was a bad idea and she shouldn't do it.

That was what had destroyed her appetite, leaving her queasy and unsure.

Tristan was next to her, golden and beautiful and perfect as always, leaning attentively towards Max on his other side, his eyes fixed on the table as his advisor spoke quickly and quietly into his ear. His skin was tanned and flawless. The lines of his shoulder and arm that she could see were hard and muscled. His hair was unkempt. His jaw was strong and perfect; she wanted to scrape her teeth over it and feel him shudder against her.

Rory broke her gaze from him, fuming. She raked her fork through the chicken on her plate savagely, shredding it into wiry strips. Stupid Callum. She was perfectly fine ignoring the fact that this was a bad idea, even without her….lineage, which her friend didn't even know about. Why did he have to come back and make her actually think about how completely and utterly idiotic she was being?

There were potatoes on the plate too, cut and boiled, and she smashed those with the tongs of her fork, grinding her teeth together. Why did he have to be perfect? _Perfect_. She was so stupid. Perfect and ordering her family killed. Perfect and destroying her life. Perfect and so wrong in so many ways. He was so damaged. She had never met anyone who was so absolutely alone as he was or half so damaged. And he was. In a lot of ways, he was perfection personified, but in so many more he was more damaged than anyone she'd ever seen.

Always in the back of her mind she saw him that first night, so broken. So vulnerable. She hadn't seen him like that again, but she could never get his face completely out of her mind. His face and his eyes that so plainly said that he knew exactly how damaged he was, knew exactly how much he would damage her if he touched her. ….

She wondered when she would start to regret it, this thing she was doing with him. When word got around Stars Hollow? When she saw Rachel crying, as she knew her adoptive mother would? When she had to watch him find a suitable wife and she couldn't find a husband because of it? When a prettier maid or lady-in-waiting to the queen came to the castle? When she walked in on him bending Kira over the desk in his study?

The last one brought a wave of guilt. Guilt for even thinking that of him. Because she knew; she couldn't say how, but she knew; he would never touch Kira again. Rory pulled her cup closer, wrapping her fingers tightly around it but not bringing it to her lips. She just set it on the tabletop, staring at it so intensely one might have thought she was trying to make it catch fire from her gaze. She could feel Logan looking at her curiously but she ignored him, slowly gripping the cup tighter as her knuckles turned white. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Logan open his mouth as if to say something to her, but something stopped him. He sat back into his chair, turning to his other side, where the head of the old guard sat.

She stared at her hands still, her ears rushing. Something at the new guard's table caught her eye and she looked past her hands to see Callum staring at her, his dusty blonde hair falling into his eyes. She returned his stare…..well no, _he_ was staring. She glared back. An apology flashed across his face, not for what he said, she knew, but for what it made her feel. She didn't react to his silent apology; instead she dropped his gaze, turning her eyes back to the table before her.

A tan hand covered hers over the cup and she jumped lightly, surprised. Tristan's hand was warm on top of hers, his voice quiet. "It's already dead, Leigh. Strangling it won't do any good." She turned to face him, confused. He motioned towards their hands and she saw that he was gingerly prying her fingers off of the drink. Uncurling them hurt. She must have been holding it harder than she'd realized.

"Oh." She said quietly, blinking slowly as she allowed him to take the cup from her and set it back farther onto the table.

He looked over at her, concerned, "Are you alright?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Obviously the answer was no, and he wouldn't have asked if he didn't want to know. But she couldn't tell him. So she just shrugged one shoulder lightly, tilting her head, "I'm just….thinking."

His eyebrow arched, unconvinced, as he glanced over to the drink he'd just pulled from her grip, "Of the most fulfilling way to destroy your cup?"

She looked over at it as well, biting her lip as she deadpanned, "Yeah I had a pretty good list going too."

"Leigh." He said quietly. He wasn't touching her, not in front of the men of the guard, but he might as well have been whispering into her ear, his breath hot against her skin or trailing his lips down her neck for the candor and the depth he put into her name. And for the effect it had on her.

She shivered and dropped his gaze, refusing to look at him. "It's nothing."

He looked at her for another moment before turning back to Max, "If you say so."

***

Rory sighed, closing her eyes as she rested her forehead against the cool stone wall, letting the autumn wind blow her hair. She stood outside of the door that led into the military wing, breathing evenly. The men were asleep. They'd all been sleeping like rocks since returning from the border and the old guard was letting them rest since they were more than halfway done with their training. She was sure it wouldn't last long, though.

Callum had said nothing more to her about Tristan but his look of disapproval spoke volumes. Nick didn't seem inclined to speak his opinion on the matter and Dorian didn't seem to have one. She'd gone back with them after dinner for a night practice, still letting them get used to their new swords. She'd worked with all of them but had spent the most time with Callum, Nick and Dorian, but that hadn't been the best plan. Although Callum said nothing else he'd still given her that look and finally she'd snapped at him to keep his opinions to himself and had stalked away from him duel with one of the other men. He'd lost pitifully.

After her anger abated Callum had approached her with his hands up in an offering of peace and told her that he hadn't meant anything by it but was just worried about her. She'd known that, of course, but she was still annoyed. She didn't tell him that, though. She'd just smiled and told him to get a sword and that it was his turn to lose.

That had been several hours ago now. Rory sighed quietly, pulling her head from the stone and turning to lean her back against it instead. She closed her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest against the cold. Callum was right, though. She didn't like thinking about it, didn't want to, but really she needed to.

Rory was pulled from her thoughts when she felt someone moving towards her. She looked up to see Tristan leaning against the doorframe, watching her, his face light. He shifted towards her, pressing his open palm against the wall next to her head. He slid in front of her, trapping her against the wall with his warm, solid body. Rory couldn't help it, she smiled.

He leaned his head down, brushing his lips across her cheekbone, "Can I kiss you now?" he asked jokingly, trailing his mouth closer to hers.

She laughed lightly despite herself, "Well, you _are_ the king. I'd say you can do pretty much anything you want."

She'd expected him to chuckle or smile, but instead she felt him halt. He pulled back, looking at her with a surprise that was rapidly shifting to conniving. His face was bright, amused, "You don't want to say _that_, Mary."

Rory tilted her head, grinning knowingly, "No?"

He shook his head lightly, a smirk finding its way onto his face, "_Definitely_ not."

She looked up at him, her hands finding their way under his shirt at the waist. "Which part?" she asked quietly, "The one about you being king?" her hands slid upwards, her fingernails scraping up his sides. He shivered, the muscles of his abdomen contracting. Rory grinned lightly, "Or…." She trailed off, leaning up onto her toes; she spoke quietly into his ear, her body pressed against his, "You can do anything you want to me."

He turned his head slightly, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She saw his throat working as he attempted to put his mind in control of his body, "_You_." He said quietly, sliding his fingertips across her stomach, "Are going to get yourself in over your head."

She grinned, leaning her head back to look him in the eye, shaking her head lightly, "Doubt it."

Tristan's jaw dropped, his eyes widening in playful shock, "Excuse me?"

Rory shrugged, leaning back against the wall, "I think you might be a little too confident in yourself."

This time he laughed, rocking back on his heels, "Mary, really, do we have to review what happened last time we had an argument like this?" Rory's eyebrows arched but she said nothing, shooting him a challenging look. He smirked, leaning closer to breathe into her ear, "I believe, Mary, that it ended with you pushed against a tree _begging_ me to take you." His hips were pushed against hers, pinning her against the wall. He was trying to get her body to heat up. It wasn't working.

She laughed in disbelief, pushing him away slightly, "Excuse me? Really? That is definitely not what happened."

"No?" he asked, smirking.

"No." she shook her head lightly, stepping away from him, "I seem to recall that someone had to stop…." she trailed off and he scoffed in the back of his throat before laughing. She twisted around, "What?"

"Had to?" he clicked his tongue, shaking his head lightly, "Mary, I was thinking of you. Have you ever been taken against a tree?" he whistled quietly, not giving her time to reply, "It's not comfortable, and what with your delicate skin…" He smacked the back of her thigh lightly, his smirk wide at her expression.

She pushed his hand away and rolled her eyes, refusing to rise to his bait, "Talk all you want, Tristan. You said that you could convince me to sleep with you, and I don't believe that the night ended that way, so really, you lost." Tristan smirked and opened his mouth to respond but no sound came out. He stared at her for a moment, his mouth open and one finger held up in the air between them. Rory's lip quirked and she crossed her arms, leaning back. She tilted her head, "Yes?"

He flexed his jaw, narrowing his eyes slightly, conceding with a light voice, "No." she smirked at him, satisfied. His eyebrows arched as he leaned towards her, "But you wanted to." Rory laughed, her head falling back. It was the strangest thing to her when he was cute. She loved it. Tristan grabbed her around the waist, swinging her towards him. She threw her arms around his neck to balance herself, "You did." He kissed her neck slowly, warmly, making her laughter trail off.

"Mmm." She muttered under her breath, closing her eyes. She leaned her head back. Tristan grinned against her skin as he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the line of her neck; he pushed her back against the wall, pressing his body against hers. Her hands slid from his neck down his shoulders to rest on his biceps. She felt him bite her neck slowly, one arm around her while the other hand trailed down to slide around the back of her thigh, pulling her closer. She felt the hard line of his entire body pushed against her. Rory's eyelids fluttered, "_Tristan_." She said quietly, tapping his arm distractedly, trying to get his attention but not wanting him to stop.

He pulled back, looking down at her through clouded eyes, "Hmm?"

She bit her bottom lip, her breath already slightly labored, "I…." she trailed off, flexing her fingers against his arms. He looked at her through a haze of heat, confused. She closed her eyes, resting her forehead against his, "Inside." She said quietly, opening her eyes to look up at him.

His face cleared of confusion and he swept her up into his arms, making her gasp. He just laughed lightly, carrying her inside and up the stairs.

*

And they fell into routine.

Every night, one way or another, Rory wound up in Tristan's bed. After the cool night air had dried their skin and before drifting off to asleep she would wrap herself in his clothes: soft old shirts or loose cotton pants, and curl against his side, his body solid and warm against her. Really it was to hide her crest but she would tell him it was to ward off the chill and he would pull her close, his hands slipping under the cloth to skim warmly over her stomach or back. And she would wake with him wrapped around her from behind, his chest and torso against her back, his arm wrapped around her and his face buried in her hair.

It didn't always result in sex. Some nights he would get in late and she would already be half asleep. He would climb into bed and wrap his arm around her waist, kissing down her neck and pulling her back against him. The first time she'd been about to roll over and engage but he'd broken his lips away from her skin and laid his head on the pillow, whispering, "Goodnight, Mary." into her ear before pulling her tighter against him and settling into sleep.

Some nights she would crawl under the covers after he was already there and go to him, kissing her way up his chest. He would laugh and pull her roughly against him, fusing his lips against hers, and he would just hold her for the longest time, his lips moving slowly and fully against hers, his body pressed against her without demanding more. And they would fall asleep wrapped together, their faces close.

Other nights he barely let her sleep at all, keeping her up until all hours, doing lecherous and lascivious and wonderful things to her body all night. He would push her against the wall or the bed, whisper into her ear or lick his way across her chest, turn her around or hitch her legs up around his hips, hold her hands above her head while she gasped and arched into him. And time and time again, right before she fell, he would shift, pick her up and contort her to another position to prolong them. She never knew whether to laugh or cry or scream when he did that, torn because she wanted nothing in the world more than she wanted that release, but she also never in her life wanted him to stop.

Finally after an eternity he would deliver, stronger and harder and more powerful for both of them each time. And she would fall back or melt into him, gasping and crying out, her body becoming completely pliable against him. And he would hold her, kissing her neck and her face and her shoulders as she caught her breath. And then somehow, after they'd both regulated their breathing and had stopped shaking, one of their lips would find the other's chest or neck or shoulder, and it would be round two. Or three.

And those nights, after finally collapsing against him, her body worn and her skin slick with sweat, she would fall asleep at last, waking up the next morning to a sore body and an empty but still warm bed. Tristan, tired as he may be from those long nights, still had his duties.

*

Tristan stood on the balcony one night several weeks later, staring out at the grounds while the autumn air blew around him. He was on the balcony of one of the lesser used rooms in the top of one of the towers. As a child he'd come here to get away from everyone…when Anna insisted he take a bath or Max insisted he have a lesson. They would spend hours looking for him, but the only one who ever knew where he went had been his father. His father used to come up sometimes with the pretense of making him come down but really, once he got there, he would sit next to him and look out over the grounds, talking quietly or not at all.

After the king had died, no one had ever found him again.

He stood now, watching the new guard as they practiced on the lawn a ways away. He could faintly make out Leigh and Logan by the torchlight that illuminated their fighting space. They were leaning towards each other, speaking quietly and laughing. Logan's hand rested on the small of her back.

He leaned on the thick stone railing, dropping his head thoughtfully. His mind was all a jumble of treaties and arguments and laws and complaints, all of it a constant screaming maelstrom with a single center of calm. Of peace. And that was her. The time that he spent with her, somehow, forced his mind and body to slow…to leave behind all of the stress and weight and worry. Somehow her presence allowed him to let it all go, allowed him to be not a king, but just a person. An individual. A soul. Kings didn't have souls. He thought that, at judgment, God must have a specific set of standards to judge kings on. Or else they all went straight to hell. He wasn't sure which he would prefer. He thought of what Leigh would say if she knew what he was thinking and he almost laughed. She would either tell him that he was so wrong or else she'd say _don't be stupid, of course it's the second one_. He wasn't sure which would come out of her mouth first.

It was still strange to him, though, how she could make everything just stop. How she made his mind stop screaming and his body stop aching. She didn't know it, but he'd come to rely on her, on that ability she had to calm him, to make him better just by her _being_. By her life and her existence she made him want to be better. He thought of how much brighter everything was now that she was there. He wouldn't say she was like the sun. She didn't say things so explicitly. She wasn't so abrasive. She was more like the moon, illuminating everything around them in a pale light. And everything was colored by her. The sun dominated the sky during the day, scorched everything with pure light and showed what was really there. And it was easy to look away from it…more comfortable, even, when it hid behind the clouds. The moon, on the other hand, didn't dominate the night sky, not by any stretch of the imagination. But when he went out at night it was the first thing he looked for and at night, when clouds covered the moon, you were blind. It didn't scorch the earth, didn't even illuminate it completely. It bathed the night with gentle light, leaving things to be scrutinized and deciphered. You had to work to see things it showed you. It influenced how you saw things. The sun exposed colors as they were, not changing them; the moon dyed the night so that everything bore witness that it was there, and everything was changed because of it.

Yes, she was like the moon. But he wouldn't have thought it three months ago. Then he would have said she was the sun, and still most people probably would, but that wasn't who she was anymore, not to him. When he thought of her, he thought of two different sides of her. There was who he'd first met, who everyone knew. Leigh, who was amazing with a sword and bright and opinionated and larger than anything else in the world. She shocked you with her forwardness and pulled you out of yourself and made you evaluate your life and who you were and she made you see things you never wanted to think about. She lived life and she pulled you in her wake and you couldn't help but get caught up in those eyes and that smile and that laugh and before you knew what was happening you were fused to her because she willed it. Because that was what she did. She made people love her, not because she wanted it and not because she needed it, but simply because she couldn't help it.

When he thought of her like that he thought of summer heat and rivers and lightning and her hair while she ran and her laughter. He had an image in his mind, though he didn't know where it had come from, of her in a white summer dress, laughing and running and dancing through a field of wildflowers, always of wildflowers, in the middle of a hot summer day. He saw her in slow motion as if he were running behind her…with her…and she was looking back at him, laughing with her eyes and her mouth, her hair flying behind her partly from her speed and partly from a summer wind.…

And then there was the Leigh he knew now. The one that no one else saw. She was still bright and good and more than anyone else in all the world, but she was different. This one, the Leigh he knew now, she was a force of nature, just like the one he'd met before, but whereas before she was a tornado or an earthquake, now she was the movement of the rocks below the earth, the early summer nights right before a storm when the air was heaviest and the earth acquiesced, giving way because there was no other thing in the world for it to do. And the ground was changed, not in violent or sudden ways like from a tornado or an earthquake, but slowly and permanently, quietly and softly. It wasn't her forwardness now that shocked him, but her dexterity and her gentleness and her tact. She didn't say things now as he'd once thought she had. She didn't tell you things; rather, she guided you to them. She showed you the truth rather than making you see it. She didn't force him to evaluate his life and his thoughts and his actions, but by the things she said and the way she moved, by her very _life_ she made him want to see it. He'd also been wrong before about the way she made everyone fall in love with her. It wasn't that she couldn't not do it and it wasn't that she pulled them all in her wake. It was that _you_ couldn't not fall in love with her. It was that it was impossible not to need her after you met her. And she didn't drag people in her wake. They followed. They dove in head first, not looking and risking everything, because that was what it took to be with her. She didn't do it halfway and she didn't do it loudly or blindingly. She did it slowly so that you woke up one day and found yourself in her wake, not because she'd pulled you, but because you would have given anything to follow her.

When he thought of her now he thought of the night breeze and bed sheets and her gentle laughter. He thought of her voice, whispering quietly into his ear. He thought of the rain and the ocean and the smell of wildflowers on his pillow and in her hair.

It was true. Somehow, in all of this, she'd come to be a refuge for him. He didn't want to think about what laid before them.

Tristan was pulled from his reverie when he felt someone behind him. He turned surprised, to see his mother. He didn't move but stared at her, not knowing what to think. She smiled lightly, stepping out onto the balcony, "Can I join you?" she asked quietly. He nodded once, stepping to the side to give her more room…or else to get farther away. She didn't say anything about it, though, and came over to stand next to him, looking out over the grounds. They stood in silence. It wasn't awkward, but it wasn't comfortable either. After a few minutes she spoke, "It's getting colder."

Tristan nodded minutely, his voice empty, "Yes, it is."

He felt her deflate slightly and cross her arms over her chest, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, "Tristan, I came to talk to you…" she trailed off. He didn't say anything or look at her. She hesitated a moment before going on, "I came to talk to you about Leigh."

Tristan's eyebrow arched but he made no other movement, his eyes still scanning the grounds, "Oh?"

"Yes." She said quietly, turning her body to face him. Though he made no move to convey it, Tristan was surprised. Not because of the topic, that was expected from her, but because of the way she was acting. She was tense and antsy…almost nervous. He had never, in all his life, seen Cecilia Dugrey flinch at anything. Never seen her stutter or play with her hands restlessly or bring up a topic uncertainly. He was intrigued. She spoke again, "You aren't going to like what I have to say, but I'm asking you to listen to me before you storm out."

He glanced down at her, his face emotionless, and said nothing. They both knew he wasn't committing to that. He expected her to say more, but she didn't. She just looked up at him imploringly. He lowered his head towards her, "Go on."

She opened her mouth but no sound came out and so she closed it, pressing her lips together. Tristan's eyebrows arched. Was she ill? This was completely uncharacteristic of her. She looked back up at him and this time her voice came out quiet but confident, "Send her back."

Silence fell around them. He stared down at her for a moment, his mind not yet reacting, "What?"

"Send her back." She repeated, this time stronger, "Send her back to wherever she came from."

Tristan looked at his mother, took in her flustered face and her restless hands, and scoffed, turning his face back towards the grounds, "Right."

"Tristan, I'm serious." He felt her cold hand on his arm. "Please, I know you think I'm saying this for my own nefarious agenda-"

"Yes." He cut her off, "I can't think of what good it would do you, but that is exactly what I think you're doing."

"But I'm _not_." She said earnestly. And Tristan couldn't help but snap his head back around to look at her. He'd never heard her voice with such an absence of ice or malice. Her hand still gripped his arm, "I'm not, Tristan, I promise you."

He shook his head lightly, "Then why?"

She sighed, her shoulders falling, "Because, son, you need to send her off before you fall in love with her." He narrowed his eyes slightly but said nothing, uncertain of where she was going with this. "It's already started. I can see it. Max can see it. Everyone can see it, and you need to stop this before it gets worse. The only way to do that is to separate yourself from her. Send her home."

He shook his head lightly, so not wanting to have this conversation with her, "Mother, you've lost your mind."

She looked up at him for a moment before she spoke, "She's in your bed, isn't she? Every night." His eyes narrowed fractionally but he said nothing, "I've never said anything about your mistresses before, Tristan, never made one mention of your liaisons, but I cannot sit by and allow this to happen."

He looked at her, his face drawn in disbelief, before scoffing lightly, shaking his head as if disappointed, "I can't believe I'm hearing this. Even with everything, you're still my mother. I can't believe you would be doing this. Is it really this hard for you to see me happy?"

Her jaw dropped and he was surprised at her look of genuine shock and hurt, "To see you happy? No, Tristan, this isn't about ruining your happiness."

He shook his head, "Then what is it, mother?"

She watched him for a moment, considering, before sighing lightly, steeling herself for something. "Tristan," She started, touching his face gently, "Love, your father was a good man." Tristan jerked his face back from her touch. He now definitely had no clue where she was going with this but he didn't want to hear it. She grabbed him, though, holding him there, "Tristan, please, just listen. You need to hear this. Even if you've never listened to a thing I've said, _this_ you need to hear." He stared at her cautiously but stayed. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes, "He was a good man. A wonderful king. An _amazing_ father. But," She opened her eyes and locked her gaze with his, "a less than outstanding husband."

Tristan shook his head, breaking his gaze from hers, "I don't want to hear this."

She ignored him, "You look so much like him," she whispered, her voice pained. "Tristan, please. Listen. You'll thank me later, I promise you."

"Doubtful." he muttered darkly.

Cecilia went on, "I know that you father loved me. In his own way, in the way that he could, he did love me. But he didn't know how to show it." She broke off, licking her lips distractedly. She changed directions, obviously having a hard time conveying what she meant, "I haven't been the best mother to you. And I'm sorry for that."

He turned to her, surprised, "You don't have to do this. We don't have to-"

"No." she shook her head, tightening her grip on him, "No, Tristan, you need to hear this. I know there's no excuse for the terrible mother I've been to you, but I was so young, and I was so unhappy, and most days it was all I could do to just make myself stay alive. Being happy, playing with you, it was all too much. Not because of you, _never_ because of you. But because of everything else." Tristan felt his eyes widen. He stared at his mother, unable to make himself understand what she'd just said. She'd considered….but no. She never would have even thought of taking her own life. Would she? "I want you to know," she started quietly, "that I always loved you. You can't imagine how ecstatic I was the day I realized I was pregnant with you, Tristan. Me and your father both. Tristan, we wanted you so badly. _I_ wanted you so badly." She touched his face, smiling sadly, "You were so loved, from the moment you were conceived. And your father, I loved your father so unbelievably much. You're the only person in the entire world who I ever loved as much. I was fourteen when your father chose me, fifteen when we married, and sixteen when you were born." She shook her head lightly, "I was so young, Tristan, and I made so many mistake because of it. We'd been married for a little more than six months when I found out about his first mistress."

Tristan froze. So that was what this was about? His mother saw his reaction and touched his arm comfortingly, asking him to let her finish, "I was a wreck, I was barely pregnant with you, and they put me on bed rest for fear that my distress would damage you. Your father explained that the only reason he'd done it was because it wasn't always safe for a pregnant woman to make love, that it could damage the baby." She grabbed his chin gently, making him look at her, "And for future reference, we all know it isn't true, Tristan, not until the very end, so don't try that one on your wife." He was about to respond but she went on, "And so, like the naive girl that I was, I trusted him. Even though I knew it wasn't true I honestly thought that he had believed it. They told me, even, to let it happen while I was pregnant. That it was normal and natural for a man to take a mistress while his wife is with child because she can't fulfill all of his needs." Tristan cringed, not only because he didn't want to think of his parents in that way, but also because the thought itself disgusted him. To take another while your wife was pregnant with your child? It was twisted. "He told me that it had been for the baby, that he was only thinking of us, of his family. He didn't want to hurt me or our child, he didn't know what _would_ hurt us. And so I told him that as early along as I was, there was no danger to the baby. But I was still so hurt, so betrayed, I couldn't look at him, Tristan. And he felt terrible, I know. I know that he couldn't control himself, but in the beginning, each time, it killed him as much as it killed me. He held me and wept and buried his face in my hair and told me that he was sorry, that he was so sorry and he loved me and adored me and he would never, never do anything to hurt me again." She smiled gently, bitterly, "and I believed him. Because I loved him.

"The moment you were born, Tristan, I felt as if this hole that had been in my chest for all my life was suddenly filled. It was like I'd been waiting all my life just to hold you, like you'd been a part of me all along and now that you were in the world I was whole. The moment you were born I wanted to hold you, but they took you away. They handed you first to your father and then to a wet nurse. All I got to give you was a kiss on the forehead before you were taken from me." her eyes were far away and swimming but no tears fell, "I tried again and again to nurse you. It's this…this powerful, innate need for a mother; but they wouldn't let me. Each time they took you away and said that that wasn't an occupation for a queen. And because they never let me, soon I couldn't anymore. So I would just hold you and talk to you. Your father always wanted you near. He would bring you with him everywhere, showing you to everyone and always saying how strong you were and how smart. And how he loved you." She whispered the last part, pressing her lips together, "And because he was king I was queen, he got to choose who got you when. It wasn't my place to go out into the city with him or into his meetings. He was never unkind about it, of course, but I knew as well as him that it simply wasn't done. And he always wanted you either with him or in a lesson, learning etiquette or fencing or languages." She smiled at him, "Your father wanted you to be the epitome of a king. He wanted you to have everything. He_ loved_ you, so much.

"I found out about the next mistress when you were a month old. I'm sure he'd been sleeping with her while I was pregnant but had promised death to anyone who let it slip near me for fear that I would lose you. I don't even remember now how I learned of her. But it was that one, and the next that did me the most damage. The rest after that all blur together." She bit her lip, shaking her head lightly, "He never forsook me, Tristan, but I think that just made it worse. We never spoke of his mistresses, the ones he went back to or only had once, but we both knew that I knew. And slowly our marriage became nothing but a show for the people of the kingdom because he couldn't give them up and I couldn't put on a happy face. But we had to be strong for the people. And it was made worse because I wasn't allowed to be a real mother. It wasn't proper for a queen to play on the floor with her child. To nurse her child. To kiss him in public or pick him up after he was two years old. I was desolate, Tristan, with a husband who cared for me but couldn't keep himself from other women and a beautiful, perfect baby boy that I loved so much it hurt but I wasn't allowed to touch. I told you before that it was all I could do just to live through each day, but it was for you and because of you that I was even able to do that. I lived for the moments I could spend with you." She whispered, running a hand along his cheek affectionately, "But then you started getting older. You were so much like your father. You would say the things he said, walk as he walked. And you_ look_ just like him still. It got the point that it hurt to look at you because I couldn't stand the thought of you becoming him. I couldn't bear to think that you would ever do that to a woman that you loved. To the mother of your children.

"And I knew that there was nothing I could do to prevent it because I wasn't allowed time with you to teach you any differently. All you ever saw was your father and the way he was and you were raised to see that as right."

Tristan shook his head lightly, "Mother-"

"Shh, shh." She whispered, shaking her head gently, understandingly, "I'm almost finished. I'm not judging you, Tristan. I wouldn't do that. I don't know how much your father loved me, but I know he cared for me even to the end. I was barely able to make myself get up in the mornings and live an empty life that I hated, but I did it because I love you. Because I loved both of you so much that without either of you I didn't know who I was or what I would do with my life." She took his chin in her hand, making him meet her eyes, "But this, Tristan, _this_ is the point of what I am saying, and this is why you must send her back. You were the reason I made myself live, but I'll tell you this moment, the reason I was able to keep my sanity and think straight enough to realize that I wanted to live for you, was because you father _never_ brought a mistress into his bed. No matter what he did or who he touched, he never brought one into our room, never brought one to our bed. I was able to stay sane because I knew that he never cared for them.

"Do you see, Tristan? He cared for me, loved me. He touched them but it was never more than physical. Never more than lust. The reason I was able to make myself go on was that I knew he didn't care for them. If he had cared for them, loved them…." She trailed off, shaking her head, "Even my love for you wouldn't have been enough to make me stay on this earth. Do you understand that? Do you see what I'm saying, son?

"This thing you're doing with Leigh, playing marriage, it will only end in heartache." Tristan stiffened. Shocked as he was at her behavior and her confessions, he still tensed when Leigh's name passed over his mother's lips. She spoke quietly, "It isn't fair to any of you. It isn't fair to her or to you or to your future wife." She broke off, tilting her head, "Have you thought of that at all, Tristan? Has it even crossed your mind? You have to marry soon. Very soon. And it can't be her, so what do you think it will do to your wife when she comes into the situation? Her husband in thrall to a young village girl who for some reason is still in the castle long after the need for her as a trainer has passed? Can you even imagine the pain and anguish of that, Tristan? Your father never loved any of them and I can tell you right now that that is the only reason I didn't lose my mind or push one of them in front of a stampeding horse. But you, you and Leigh? Maybe you don't love her yet, I don't know, but you will. You're growing to."

He interrupted her, "Mother-"

She acted as if she hadn't heard him, "Have you thought of her at all? What are you going to do? Keep her here? Keep this going even after you're married? That would be unbelievably cruel to your wife."

"No I'm not-"

She cut him off. Her voice was becoming harsher, shriller, and colder. She was falling back into her normal self, "Are you going to send her back in a year or so? After this gets all around the kingdom? Who do you honestly expect would want to marry her after this? Have you thought of how extremely difficult it will be for her to find a husband after this, Tristan?"

He closed his eyes, not wanting to think about the pain he would cause Leigh because of this, or of her in someone else's bed, "Mother."

She ignored him, "Or were you just planning on keeping her here as a lady in court or sending her to a manor in the country and going all the time to see her and letting her have your bastards-"

"_Mother_." He snarled, grabbing her upper arms roughly, "That is enough."

Something in his voice or his face must have warned her, because she fell quiet, pressing her lips together, "I'm just saying, Tristan, that it's something you need to think about. Damage has already been done. The only way to stop it from getting worse is to send her away."

He shook his head wearily, "I won't send her away."

She looked up at him, her eyes tight. She was trying to see into his mind. And because he couldn't make himself say it he looked back at her without guarding himself, without carefully controlling his emotion and blocking his mother out. He looked at her openly and honestly. She looked back at him and after a moment her face changed. "_Tristan_." she sighed forlornly, her shoulders falling, and he saw that she understood. He wouldn't send Leigh away, simply because no matter how much he might logically know that he should, he couldn't. He couldn't.

**

Rory woke slowly the next morning, shifting in the tangle of pillows and blankets that surrounded her. She sighed heavily, snuggling closer to Tristan. Last night he'd been more attentive than he had ever been before, which for him was saying a lot. Every look he gave her seemed to penetrate through her skin and into her soul, every touch lingered and every kiss was fuller. Every thrust was deeper and every word he whispered into her ear as he drove into her was more broken and vulnerable. Every time he said her name it sounded like he was whispering a prayer. Not of praise, but of repentance. It hadn't been a night like the others, where they would go for hours, moving and shifting and gasping and screaming, whispering challengingly to each other or laughing carnally. No, last night had been….

She didn't want to say it, didn't even want to think the words because she'd sworn that she would never let it be that. Never let it come to that. But if she was being honest with herself then if what they usually did was have sex then last night had been…making love. It was the only thing she could think, and it made her want to scrape off all her skin and boil herself in water, because she would _not_ let it come to that. She would _not_ let herself love him.

Her face was on his chest, her left leg tangled with his. It was cold. Despite the fires that constantly roared in the hearths, the air outside was leaking into the castle and making everything chill. But Tristan's skin was warm. She mewed quietly, burrowing into the warmth of his body and the sheets, kissing along his bare chest in her early morning stupor.

He responded slowly, waking from a combination of her body moving and her lips sliding across his skin and the morning light streaming in through the window. She wondered briefly why Anna had always been in her room when she awoke but no one waited on the king like that. She supposed it didn't matter, though, as Tristan woke, sliding his hands down her sides slowly and kissing her forehead. He looked out of the window and groaned quietly about having to move before sliding out from under the covers.

She stared at his somehow still tanned back as he slid on a pair of light cotton pants, scratching his hands rapidly through his hair. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, watching him. That was it? No carnal suggestion or action or even a real kiss? She couldn't remember one time in the past weeks that they'd woken and he hadn't pushed her back into the mattress or trailed his hands over her or at least _kissed_ her.

He moved thickly, stretching his upper body against sleep, and she watched him, really watched him, and realized belatedly that his movements were stiff and unnatural…tense. "Tristan?"

He glanced over in her direction briefly but didn't really look at her, "Hmm?"

"What's wrong?"

"I'm fine." He said lightly, looking out the window into the clear, cold day.

"Tristan." She repeated quietly, her voice serious. At that his gaze did fall on her. He watched her for a moment from his place against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze was far off, though, distracted. His eyebrows knitted together and he turned away. She sat up straighter, pulling the sheet around her and spoke gently, "Hey, talk to me."

Tristan hesitated for a moment, debating internally, before walking slowly over to sit on the very edge of the bed, away from her. Her stomach dropped. They sat in a heavy silence for a stretch before she heard his quiet voice, "You remember a few weeks ago, when you asked me if I'd ever made a decision I regretted?" he asked without looking at her. He was leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. He stared at the wall, his eyes clouded and far away.

She shifted closer to him on the bed, pulling the covers higher up her chest. She touched his back gently, resting her mouth against the back of his shoulder blade, "Yes." she whispered against his skin.

He didn't respond immediately, but stared into space for another moment before continuing. "Five days after my father died I was coronated king." he stopped talking for a moment, his forehead creasing in thought. Rory trailed her fingers gingerly over his back, inviting him to continue. He began again slowly, "After the ceremony, I ordered his murderer killed." Rory's hand stilled on his skin. She felt her stomach clench painfully. Her right hip burned. Tristan spoke quietly, distractedly, as if he were telling himself as much as her. "I never...." he trailed off, "I never found out why he did it. He wouldn't say." his eyes narrowed at the wall, remembering his conversation with Max ten years before, "But I was so....angry. So hurt." he stopped thoughtfully, his speaking even and controlled, "After I ordered his death, I ordered that his family die as well. His parents. His siblings. Aunts and uncles. Cousins. His wife's as well." he bit his lip, his expression utterly emotionless, completely guarded. "He had three children around my age." Tristan whispered. He closed his mouth, swallowing hard. His mouth opened as if he would go on, but no words came. He closed it again.

Rory felt as if her body were on fire. Her mind was screaming but at the same time it was utterly silent. Panic and fear and hate and sympathy and self-loathing all fought for control. Fear that he would find her out and finish what he failed to accomplish ten years ago. Panic that her rapidly beating heart would give her away. Hate for the things he'd put her through without even knowing it. Sympathy because she saw the turmoil he tried to hide, the guilt and regret. And self-loathing because she shouldn't have pitied him, but more than that she should never have ever allowed him to touch her. She shouldn't have allowed him to make her forget all the things he'd done. She'd long ago dealt with the death of her family. After coming here, after everything between them, she'd squared herself with the fact that Tristan was who he was and that he'd done the things he had done, and no amount of wishing or dreaming or trying would change that. She would take him now, even with everything that he'd done, because neither of them could change the past. But to give him up, to completely turn away from happiness that she could have now, and maybe even in the future, because of things neither of them could change now….that wasn't something she was willing to do.

Somehow, in her mind, she'd convinced herself that is wasn't exactly her family that he'd killed. It was hard to separate the man who had killed _his_ father from the man who _was_ her father, but she had. She thought of how Tristan must have felt, thought of how she would react if someone killed Jess or Luke or Rachel, and she knew that she would do anything to avenge them. Anything. If someone killed Jess she would spend her life tracking them down and tearing them limb from limb. Tristan had just had more leeway than she would in a similar situation. What Tristan had done had been rash, obviously, and part of her still hated him for it, but most of her forgave him, as hard as it was, because she knew him. She didn't know why he'd done what he had, but she did know that he wasn't bad. He wasn't cold. Somehow…she still wasn't positive how…she'd been able to separate the two halves of Christopher Hayden in her mind: her father, and the man who'd killed the king. It didn't matter why he'd done it. Well, it mattered in moral, really, but in reality it didn't. She'd resolved herself to the thought that Tristan hadn't killed _her_ family. He'd killed the man who had murdered the king. His goal hadn't been to kill her family; his goal had been to erase the Haydens, one of whom had murdered the king. Another of which was her. When she thought about it like that, objectively, rather than as _her _family, it was easier.

She was ripped from her reverie and back into reality as he continued, "More than fifty people died because of one rash decision that I made." he whispered. The screaming in Rory's head had made her miss the pounding silence around them but now it crashed in on her. Nothing. The only sound in the room was the cracking of the fire. And now that the noises in her head were muted it pushed in on her. "It was the day after my twelfth birthday." he whispered. Tristan exhaled slowly, resting his face in his hands, "I don't know about regret, because I never learned to feel it. But I imagine...." he trailed off, closing his eyes as his body sagged, "I don't think that a child should be given the power to have a decision like that carried out." he finished quietly.

She let the silence swirl around them for a stretch before speaking gently, "Regret isn't something you _learn_ to feel, Tristan. It's innate in all of us. It's what makes us human." Her fingers traced along the smooth skin of his back. She sighed quietly, laying her lips against his shoulder, "What you feel but you can't put a name to, this guilt…it's regret." She closed her eyes, resting her forehead against his temple as she spoke quietly into his ear, "It means you have a soul." She felt his head move and she pulled hers away. He turned to look at her, his expression unreadable. There was something in it though, something of awe and amazement. Rory raised her hand to skim it along the side of his face, "It means you're _good_."

He reached over to rest a hand on her knee, squeezing it gently, "What I _feel_ doesn't change the things that I've _done_, Leigh. Feeling something doesn't make you good. It's what you do that makes you who you are."

Rory's brow creased. She was concerned. She'd never seen him like this, "So if you could go back, you wouldn't do it again?"

Tristan exhaled quietly, pulling his hand from her, "Does it matter?"

"Yes." She whispered. He looked back to her. She went on, "If you wouldn't do it again, Tristan, then you're not a _bad_ person. What happened was bad but everyone makes bad judgments, yours just have farther-reaching consequences because you're king." She pressed her lips together, shaking her head lightly, "That doesn't make it okay, but it makes it different."

He stared at her for a moment, his head tilted lightly as if he were trying to figure out a confounding problem. Finally he spoke, his voice quiet, "…how?"

"Well," Rory said thoughtfully, breaking her gaze from his, "since you're the king you have so much more-"

"No." he cut her off, putting his hand gently onto her thigh over the sheet to get her attention, "No, not how is it different for me." He shook his head lightly, staring at her intently, "How can you be so….good?"

Rory's head cocked, taken aback, "What?"

"How can you be so good, how can you be so unbelievably unjudgmental of everything?"

She smiled lightly, "Au contraire, your majesty, I am very judgmental. I just see things differently than others."

Tristan still had that look like he was trying to figure her out, but he let it go, shaking his head lightly before standing. He sighed, flexing his fingers distractedly, "If I could go back." He said quietly, not looking at her, "I wouldn't kill his family." He glanced over at her, meeting her gaze for a moment, "But I'd kill Christopher Hayden slower than they did."

***

As the weather turned colder Rory started waking up more. There were nights that they would drift to sleep, whether they'd torn the room apart or just quietly fallen into slumber, and she would wake in the middle of the night. It was those nights, when she couldn't sleep, that she went to the sitting room to read and he would wake without her there and come to find her. It was those nights, half delirious with sleep, that he would do anything. Give her anything. Do whatever he knew to make her gasp. To make her squirm; to make her scream. He would touch her, push his body against hers, do things with his fingers and mouth she'd never thought possible and grin wickedly, watching her writhe and whimper and sweat and gasp uncontrollably. He would lean down against her ear and whisper all the wickedly carnal things he longed to do to her, which only kicked up the reaction in her body and made her bite her lip, pushing her hips against him to get any friction possible to relieve her suffering. He would grin, touching her in different ways and places, and at her violent reaction he would smirk, arrogantly asking her if it felt good.

But other times, and these were her favorite times, what usually happened these late nights when his guard was down and he surrendered to her completely, he would touch her in reverence, moving his hands slowly and torturously over her body and at her uncontrollable and devastatingly innocent reactions his body would shake and he would whisper into her ear, softly begging her to _tell_ him what she wanted.

It was these nights he would find her sitting on the couch, unable to sleep. He would rub his eyes and join her with sleep hanging over him like a blanket. They would converse for a while, he would ask if she was cold and chafe his hand against her bare calf. She would shake her head and point to the fire in the hearth. Then they would talk for a while. About anything. Everything. Gradually moving closer and closer. Until the talking slowed. No matter how it started out it always, inevitably, led to slow, burning love. He would finally push her back against the couch and lean over her, catching her lips in a devastatingly deep kiss. His hand would trail gingerly up her bare thigh, parting her legs slowly until his fingers slipped to her center and she would gasp, his lips trailing down her neck and his other hand roaming her body until she was ready for him. She would squirm, grasping for him, pushing her body against his. But no matter how she arched into him, how she gasped or ground against him, begged him to take her or whimpered and breathed his name; no matter how she clenched his shoulders or pushed her hips against his hand, searching for anything to relieve her from her torture, he would push her hips back, whispering to her and teasing her gently, grinning against her lips as she kissed him hard enough to bruise.

He would rub her center slowly, alternating pressures until she thought she would scream and break and do anything, anything he asked. It was then, once she was gasping, once he was absolutely positive that she was ready for him and he wouldn't hurt her, that he would fuse his lips against hers and kiss her deeply again, pushing up the hem of his shirt that was draped over her until it bunched at her hip bones. She would push the loose cotton pants he slept in off his hips and drag him close, her body tight and ringing; so ready for him she was nearly shaking. He would smile against her lips, gently spreading her legs further until his hips fit between her thighs. And he would enter her slowly, letting her get used to his width and length as he slid fully into her. She would gasp, her head falling back and her chest arching into him as her mouth opened in a silent cry of pleasure and pain. And then he would move. And the glorious light would start to build…

Over the weeks she also came to realize that Tristan rambled when he was tired. Her mornings were still spent arguing with Anna about waxing her legs and drinking that vile tea and what she had to wear. Her days were spent working with the guard, laughing with Marty or Callum, Nick, and Dorian. Her evenings were spent with Sookie or Logan. And her nights…her nights were spent in various states of comfort and warmth and pleasure and pain and euphoria with Tristan. All with Tristan. He was so different, so different than anyone knew. It had shocked her at first, to learn how much he needed people. Needed someone to reassure him that he wasn't evil, wasn't cruel. That he really was doing what was best for his people. It wasn't that he was weak or needy, it was just that he was human. And she wondered if anyone else let him just be human, or if they expected more because he was king. She wondered if anyone else knew that he was just a man. Just a boy, really, still trying to fill his father's shoes. He didn't see that he was a good king, as good as his father had been….maybe even better.

She did, though. She knew, because she knew him.

She knew him, and there were things about him that she loved, and one of the things that she loved the most, that she found the most endearing, was that he rambled. It happened on nights when he was delirious with exhaustion or woke up in a stupor of sleep, those were the nights she liked him most. Or, if not liked him most, those were the times that he amused her more than any other. It didn't happen often; in the past weeks it had been only a handful of nights. He would be barely conscious and he would call her love, darling, the light of his life, angel. He would pull her close and whisper into her hair, sometimes she caught snippets of what he said; others he would speak so quietly she couldn't decipher anything or he would speak in a language she didn't know and she'd just drift off as he spoke softly into her skin or hair. These times, in the dead of night, the wind whistling outside the window and the fire crackling in the hearth, he became vulnerable. He would say things to her that he didn't remember in the morning, or if he did remember then he never spoke of them.

There were times when it shocked her that he didn't remember. She could barely see him because of the darkness surrounding them, but he would sound completely lucid with only a hint of tiredness in his voice. There was something about him at these times, however, that made her know that he was deliriously tired, but didn't sound it.

Those were the nights, after holding her and touching her and tasting her; after whispering into her ear all the things he wanted to do to her as he drove deeper and deeper into her, pushing her to the edge and pulling her back time and time again; grinning against her lips while she whimpered, pulling him close and squirming each time he pulled back right before she fell; until finally he would bring her to the edge and pull her through into the light, his body moving deliciously against hers while his hands explored every inch of her, at last bringing her to that shimmering, pulsing end that left her arching desperately into him, gasping and crying out, his lips fused to hers to muffle the sound as he continued to rock against her until she rode every wave of it and fell back to the bed, her back damp against the cool sheets as she shivered and clung to his sweat-streaked chest, her forehead resting against his clammy shoulder as she slowly came down, gradually regaining control of her body.

It was those nights that he would hold her close, curled against her back or lying next to her, and he would speak of the future. He would talk quietly, the inflection in his voice telling her that his eyes were closed and he was talking to her as he drifted off, probably not even realizing what he was saying. But if it hadn't been for that small change in quality in his voice, she would have thought he was wide awake. He told her numerous things that she was sure he didn't remember or mean or even realize he was saying out loud. He'd told her that she made him want to be better. That with nothing more than a touch or a look or a word she could make him feel things he'd never felt from anyone before. He'd told her that he loved her. That he wanted to name their first son Janlan, after his father.

It was one of those nights after the cool autumn air had dried the moisture from their skin and they laid together, facing each other with his arm thrown around her waist and her forehead resting gently against his, their breathing slow and in sync, that he'd first broken her heart. That he'd first told her he wanted to marry her.

That he'd never met anyone before whom he'd had the slightest interest in marrying, but now the thought of being with anyone else wasn't worth the time or energy it took to entertain it. He wanted only her. Forever. He'd said that he wanted her to be his wife; rambled on and on about it until she'd kissed him to quiet him and he'd fallen silent, kissing her back languorously until she felt him stop responding and he was asleep, his breathing rhythmic and even.

When he'd told her he wanted to marry her, his arm wrapped around her waist and her forehead against his, so close she could feel his chest rising and falling, she'd felt her heart crack. Not only because it could never happen. Not only because she knew, deeply, that she loved him. Not only because she couldn't convince herself that his delirious ramblings in the middle of the night were sincere. It wasn't only because of the immediate impossibilities that her heart fractured at his quiet, torturously gentle confession that could never come true. It was because of the lie. It was because she truly, honestly loved him. And he might possibly have loved Leigh Danes. But that wasn't who she was. That person didn't exist.

It was the fact that nearly everything he knew about her was a lie. It hurt to lie to him. It was lying next to Tristan, breathing him in after he so freely and copiously gave her the gift that so many women throughout the castle vied for but he now reserved only for her, that glorious, blinding, paralyzing pleasure mixed with pain that he brought forth from deep within her over and over again; it was lying with him after he'd given her all of himself. Because it was true, she didn't know if it was always like this with every man and every woman, but Tristan gave up something of himself every night when he touched her. She felt it in his skin, in his mouth and his hands. She heard it in his voice and saw it in his eyes. That he surrendered to her, conceded everything he had to her and hid nothing. He gave her everything, showed her everything, and she gave him nothing. But he didn't know it. He thought she was true, and that was what hurt most of all. The lie. That he let her in, opened himself and surrendered, became vulnerable in front of one person in all his life, and she was a liar to the end.

And it was worse because he thought she was so good, so innocent, so honest. And she knew part of him hated himself for what he was doing.

There were times she held him, kissing along the strong lines of his jaw and cheeks, brushing her lips over his eyes and mouth while she watched self loathing and guilt burn deep within him. When he hurt her. When he thought he was corrupting her. When he'd done things he thought would make her hate him. When he drove too deep or too hard, making her cry out in pain from the shock of it. When he left bruises or marks over her body from the pressure of his hands or his mouth; she'd tried to show him that she couldn't feel them, she'd left him with bruises too, but he ignored his own injuries and tended to hers. He would glower, drowning in his own self-contempt. She would brush kisses over his face, holding him close and running her hands lightly over his body in absolution, whispering to him how he made her feel, made her live. How he could never, never do anything to hurt her. How she would never hate him. Never fear him. Never turn away from him.

It was this cycle that destroyed them. He cared for her, lost control or didn't pay attention, hurt her, and hated himself for it; she held him, harbored him from himself and swore to him that he would always be vindicated and that her devotion would never waver. It was what ruined them, it was how they inadvertently grew to care for each other far too deeply, how they both came to long for something that could never be.

******

It was a little more than a month after Rory had started sleeping in Tristan's bed every night that she woke one morning and knew that everything was different. She woke with the warmest feeling in her chest. Tristan was still there. Usually when she woke he would already be gone or she would come to half consciousness while he kissed her forehead before he left…many of those mornings ended in her pulling him back into the bed for another round. But when she woke this morning he was still soundly sleeping beside her, their bodies not touching. She turned on her side and propped herself up on an elbow to watch him, his large shirt falling off of her shoulder. He was breathing evenly, his bare chest rising and falling steadily. There was a bruise on his shoulder where she'd marked him. It looked several days old, fading from red to purple. She hadn't realized she was doing it at the time. There was also a bite mark on his bicep; that one she had known she was doing but she'd felt her body was about to unravel from the inside and hadn't known what to do with the sensation…so she'd bitten him. She didn't bite him with the intention of hurting him or pleasuring him. It wasn't for him at all. It was some strange reaction she had to him. She didn't like it, though. She hated it. The bruises were different because she knew they didn't hurt…he'd given them to her before, but the bites, she knew they hurt but she didn't know how to stop herself. He didn't seem to mind though, it always caused a pleasurable reaction in him. But still, she didn't like the thought of him hurting at all.

Tristan stirred and she realized belatedly that she'd been trailing her fingers along the healing bite mark, tracing the indentions of her teeth. He woke but didn't open his eyes. Instead he grabbed her hand from his arm and used it to twist her around so that she was on her side. She felt his chest pushed against her back, his hand holding hers and both of them wrapped around her torso. He pulled her tight against him, squeezing her hand gently, "Go to sleep, baby."

She smiled at his voice, still thick with sleep, and pressed her body back against his, "Wake up."

"Mmm." Was all he mumbled.

Rory looked towards the window to see that it wasn't as late as she had originally assumed. The sky was still a light gray-blue. She sighed quietly, pulling her arm out from under Tristan's to lay it on top of his, lacing her fingers over his. He mumbled something else, tightening his grip on her before settling into silence. She reached around the back of her head and pulled her hair over the shoulder that was against the bed so that it wouldn't be in Tristan's face while he slept against her. She was settling back, not to go back to sleep, she didn't think that would happen, but just to lay with him. Instead she felt his lips against the back of her neck, trailing sleepy open-mouthed kisses along it. She grinned, letting her eyes close as she felt his lips slide down over the skin of her shoulder.

When she spoke, she didn't know where the question came from. It was something she'd wondered time and time again but had never dreamed of asking him. But as often happened in the early mornings before the rational part of her brain awoke, she asked him something she shouldn't have, her voice quiet, "How can it not mean anything to you?"

Tristan's lips stilled on her skin for a moment. He pulled back, looking down at her with surprisingly alert eyes, "What?"

She turned on her back to look at him and he removed his arm from around her, pushing himself up on his hand to look down at her. Rory bit her lip, not sure of what she was thinking, "How can it mean nothing to you? How can you touch someone, sleep with them, and it not mean anything to you? How can you possibly not feel anything?" He watched her without replying, his face calculating. It was as if he thought she may be speaking of two different things and was trying to decipher which she meant. She pushed herself up on her elbows and it brought her face close to his, her shoulder brushing against his chest. "All those girls before, how is it that you never felt anything? How could you touch them and it not mean anything?"

He rolled off of her, laying back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling, "Leigh…" he trailed off. She turned on her side again, up on her elbow with her head in the palm of her hand to watch him. He sighed silently, licking his lips as he stared at the roof above. "I don't know, I just didn't. It wasn't that hard." He said nothing else.

She shook her head lightly, looking down, "I can't imagine."

He turned his head to look at her, his eyes deep, "Does it mean something to you, then? With me and you?"

Rory tilted her head, her eyebrows knitting together…what kind of question was that? "Doesn't it to you?" she whispered, watching him.

Tristan slipped his hand up her arm to touch her face, pulling her closer to him. She thought he would kiss her, but instead he rested his forehead against hers, closing his eyes, his voice muted, "Every time."

She smiled lightly, looking at him from an inch away. "Yeah?" she whispered.

Tristan opened his eyes and they were dancing, his voice was warm and amused, "Yeah." He pulled her forward, pressing his lips to hers slowly and fully, pulling her to lay on top of him. She fell against him, her palms flat against the pillow on either side of his head. She felt his hands slide across her cheeks, one trailing down to her jaw and the other sliding back to tangle in her hair. He pulled away after a moment, "I have to leave the day after tomorrow. I'm going to be in Rivenlear for a week."

Rory felt her face pucker in disappointment and though she tried to stop it, she couldn't. Tristan grinned, laughing lightly. She rolled her eyes, pushing herself off of his chest to sit astride his lower torso. When she moved it took her head out of his reach and his hands slid down reflexively to hold her hips. She thought for a moment and he said nothing, watching her with an affectionate smile. "Mmm, it will be so strange to wake up to Anna again instead of you."

His forehead scrunched, "Anna?"

She nodded, looking down at him, "Yes. I have no idea how early she gets up but she's always in my room when I wake up."

Tristan looked up at her consideringly before sitting up, the change in position causing her to slide further down his hips, "You don't have to leave."

Rory turned her head, lost, "What?"

He shook his head, "You can sleep in my bed. You don't have to go back to your room while I'm gone."

Her eyes widened slightly and she stared at him in silence. "You're serious?" she asked after a moment.

Tristan shrugged one shoulder, "Unless you don't want to."

"No, no." she shook her head, distracted, "I do, I just…" she trailed off, shaking her head, "It is more comfortable than mine."

He just laughed at her attempt at an excuse, leaning up to kiss her.

**

The morning Tristan left for Rivenlear Rory was awoken by a gentle kiss on her forehead and someone whispering her name, "Leigh."

She shifted towards the voice, recognizing it as Tristan's, opening her eyes slowly in the dark room. He was leaning over the side of the bed, brushing her tangled hair back from her face. She looked up at him through eyes still squinted with sleep, "The sun isn't up yet. Why are you?"

He laughed quietly, "I'm leaving."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

"Oh." she pushed herself up into a sitting position, the covers falling away from her body, "You're getting back in a week?"

He nodded, sitting on the edge of the bed to face her. "Yeah, in about a week. Maybe a little more." He finished, touching her lips gently with his index finger. He leaned down, placing another warm kiss on her forehead, "Max and Logan are coming with me and we're taking half of the new guard, so you might be on your own while we're gone." He said quietly, pulling his face back from hers.

"I think I'll manage."

He laughed from his chest, tracing his fingertip lightly down her lip and over her chin. He kept his eyes locked with hers, the smallest of smirks quirking his lips as his touch trailed lower, skimming slowly down her throat and the valley of her chest. Rory shivered and he grinned wider, his hand passing down the center of her bare stomach.

She looked up at him through hooded eyes, her mouth slightly open. Her voice came out breathier than it should have, "I thought you were leaving?"

"I am." his hand dipped under the covers, finding her center, and she gasped, her hips shifting involuntarily. He smirked, leaning down to place a deep kiss on her open mouth as his fingers moved against her. Rory leaned back, grabbing his shirt to pull him with her. He let her bring him halfway down so that he was leaning over her, one hand supporting his weight on the bed and the other snaked between their bodies, teasing her gently. Not giving enough pressure. He broke his lips from her to kiss his way down her neck.

"_Tristan_." She moaned, grinding her lower body against him. But he shushed her quietly in her ear, pushing her back down with his own hips. And she could feel him grinning against her skin.

"I have to go." He said quietly and she could hear the smugness in his voice. He laid a loud, wet kiss on her neck before pushing himself off of her and sliding his hand away from her, running it languidly down her inner thigh as he pulled back.

She pushed herself up, leaning back heavily on her hands, staring at him with arched eyebrows as he stood from the bed, "What was that?"

"I have to leave." He repeated, his eyes trailing from her shining eyes and flushed cheeks to her bare shoulders and lower before sweeping back up to her face.

When his gaze came back to her face he saw that she had one of his own smirks in place. She shook her head lightly, "No you're not." and in one fluid motion she slid effortlessly onto her knees and grabbed the front of his shirt, fusing her lips to his and pulling him back onto the bed.

*

Rory walked across the grounds of the castle with Callum a few days later, throwing a stick for her mastiff puppy, Duke, to chase and bring back. He wasn't so good at the second part. When Tristan, Logan, and Max had gone to Rivenlear they'd taken half of the new guard, Dorian and Nick among them. Callum would have gone but had thrown something out in his elbow two days before they left. He would recover in a few weeks, but it was his sword arm and would impede his ability to protect them if anything were to happen. He was livid about it. She'd witnessed the rant that ensued after the physician had told him he couldn't go. He'd almost thrown out his opposite shoulder punching walls and throwing things. He was still touchy and in a bad mood, but not like he had been the first few days they were gone.

They really didn't have much to do, though, with half of the old and new guards both gone they were only doing their morning runs and informal training sessions and Rory and Callum didn't quite know what to do with themselves. So they were out here with her dog, throwing the stick for it and talking. And somehow they'd ended up on the subject of Tristan, which she absolutely did not want to talk about with him. She looked around for something to slit her wrists with. Or maybe his.

"I'm just saying, Leigh, that I don't want you to get hurt."

She nodded lightly, not looking at him, "Noted. Thank you."

He sighed, grabbing her arm, "Come on, Leigh, level with me here, please."

She looked at him, her shoulders dropping inside her heavy cloak, "What?"

"Look, I know I kid around a lot but really, honestly, I'm worried about you here."

Rory shook her head, "You don't need to be."

Callum didn't respond at first, just looked down at her scrutinizingly, "They say you're in his bed every night."

She exhaled heavily, glaring at him, "And _this_ is where the conversation ends."

She turned to walk away but he grabbed her arm, pulling her back, "No, no, no, Leigh, that isn't how I meant it."

"What?"

"What I meant," he explained slowly, "was that you're _in_ his bed. Not _sleeping_ with him; I wouldn't know about your sex life with him; but that you actually sleep in his bed. Even when he's away." He lowered his head so that he could look at her on her eye level.

She wanted to look away but made herself keep eye contact with him, "So?"

"So, they also say that no woman has ever slept in his bed."

Rory scoffed, leaning back on her heels, "I don't see where this is going." Callum said nothing and after a stretch of silence she looked over to see that he was watching her. She squirmed, pressing her lips together, "What?"

He looked at her through narrowed eyes, his dirty blonde hair sweeping in front of his eyes, "Do you love him?

"_What_?" she blanched, jerking away from him.

He didn't let her violent reaction distract him, "Leigh, do you love him?"

"No!"

"Leigh." He prodded calmly.

She scoffed, shaking her head lightly, "I don't…." she trailed off, looking away from him, "I don't know."

He crossed his arms over his chest, "You don't know?"

"No, okay? I don't know what I feel, Callum. I have no idea." He just watched her, making no move to speak. He was waiting for her. After a stretch she sighed, wrapping her arms around herself, "He's the king." She whispered finally, "I _can't_."

"Just because you're not supposed to, doesn't mean you don't." he said quietly.

Rory looked up at him, surprised. "I do care about him." She conceded, "More than I should. So, so much more than I should….."

Callum tilted his head, watching her, "But he's the king?"

Her shoulders fell and she nodded slowly, "But he's the king."

***

Tristan sat on the ground where his guard was camping during their stay in Rivenlear, staring at the fire burning in the middle of the camp. He sat several feet from it, the heat washing over him. He could have stayed in the castle, but…..but princess who he'd rejected threw her nose up and her chest out every time he entered the room. She refused to look at him but had the obnoxious habit of popping up everywhere he went. He supposed she was showing him what he'd given up. It was better than the last visit, when he'd actually done the refusing. She'd run crying every time he entered the room during _that_ visit.

The reason they'd come at all was to finish smoothing over his rejection of the marriage. The king was slightly offended, but nothing careful diplomacy couldn't mend. That was the main reason he'd brought Max this time.

He supposed it was thinking of the princess that made his thoughts turn to Leigh. Because if it hadn't been for his conversations with her he might be betrothed to that spoiled brat right now. He'd thought, originally, that she was sweet. That was before he'd invoked her anger. He watched the flames in the fire pit they'd formed, thinking of Leigh. He glanced over next to him where Logan sat, staring into the fire as well.

"What do you think of Leigh?" he asked his cousin, looking back towards the fire.

Logan's eyebrow arched thoughtfully, not breaking his gaze from the fire, "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice even.

"What do you think of her? And me?"

Logan didn't answer for a moment and they sat in a comfortable silence. "I think." He said quietly, a small smirk on his face, "That she is absolutely mad about you." Tristan chuckled lightly but said nothing, waiting for Logan to go on. "I don't know, Tristan, I mean, I've never seen you like this before. I think you're more gone than you realize too."

His lip twitched, "You think so?"

"You're smiling. Do you know that? We're talking about a girl, and it's making you smile. So yes, I do think so."

Tristan bit the insides of his cheeks, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought, "Do you remember Lord Haeron? He was an old baron who died when we were kids? He used to sit with a pipe and a cane, yelling at children and dogs that came too close to his house in the city?"

Logan laughed lightly, his eyes crinkling at the edges, "Ohh yes, I remember Lord Haeron. He's hard to forget. Always rambling on about wars and taxes and idiot kids."

Tristan nodded slowly, "Yeah, he would. And do you remember when he used to talk about his wife?"

Logan's forehead scrunched. He turned to look at his cousin, "Kind of. Why?"

He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, exhaling slowly, "He used to talk about how he came here from Rivenlear as a child, with his parents. As he got older he felt something in him was wrong. Was missing. Like there was something of him in Rivenlear." He cracked his jaw, falling silent.

"I don't remember that." Logan shook his head slowly.

Tristan glanced over at him, "He said that when he was 23 a girl that he'd known as a child came to the city here while her family was passing through and the moment he saw her he knew that he had to marry her. He knew that he was supposed to have known her for all his life. That they weren't supposed to have been separated years before. He knew that were supposed to have been together." He sighed quietly, shaking his head, "It's like that with her, Logan. I feel like I'm supposed to have known her, like I'm supposed to always have been with her. Like she's always been a part of me…" he trailed off, shaking his head, "Does that even make any sense?"

"No." Logan shook his head lightly. Tristan snapped his head around, glaring, and Logan laughed, dropping his head, "No, it doesn't make sense. But that's not surprising. When it comes to caring about people, to being with people, it doesn't make sense."

Tristan snorted, laughing lightly. He watched the fire, his eyes stinging, "She asked me the other day, how I could touch someone and not feel anything. How it could mean nothing to me." His eyebrows drew together, "And do you know what? I can't even remember it now. I can't imagine touching her and not feeling anything. It doesn't even…" he trailed off, flexing his jaw, "I can't."

Logan stared at him by the light of the fire, his eyes narrowed slightly, "Do you love her?" he asked, almost surprised.

Tristan didn't look at him but kept his eyes on the flames, breathing evenly, "I don't know." He said finally, quietly, "I would marry her. Now. Today. This moment, if I thought the people would accept her. If I honestly thought she wouldn't be miserable." He sighed, dropping his head, "How unbelievable is it that all these years I've never found anyone that I've had any interest in marrying and now I've finally found her…but she's common?" he shook his head lightly, picking it back up, "Unbelievable."

***

When they arrived back at the castle several days later it was night, most of the inhabitants already asleep and the massive structure silent. Tristan moved slowly down the halls, not wanting to wake anyone. He wondered if Leigh had indeed slept in his room or if she'd gone back to hers. By the time he reached his suite everyone else had gone to their rooms, leaving him alone. He opened the door slowly and looked around the lounge room. Nothing looked any different. If she had been sleeping here then she hadn't moved anything or brought anything in that hadn't been there before. He moved quietly to the bedroom door, listening. He didn't hear anything.

Tristan pushed the door open quietly and the strangest, most ridiculous satisfaction and warmness spread over him. She was there, a fire crackling in the hearth, sitting up with her back against the headboard and a book propped on her knees, wrapped in one of his shirts.

Leigh looked up as he entered the room, smiling brightly, "Hi."

His lip quirked as he stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind him, "Hi."

"You're back?" she asked, closing the book and setting it on the night table next to the bed.

His eyebrow arched and he held his arms out on either side of him, giving her a full view of him, "Looks like it." She grinned and was about to say something else but a bundle at the foot of the bed caught his eye. He blanched, "What is that?"

Leigh followed his gaze and bit her lip, pushing back a grin, "That's Duke."

"What is your dog doing in the bed?" he asked as if she'd lost her mind.

"He was lonely." She explained lightly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"You're kidding." He said simply.

"No…." she threw the covers off, sliding out of the bed and for a moment he was distracted by her ridiculously long legs, bare from her thighs down. She came over to him easily, placing a hand gently on his chest, "He was lonely. I couldn't leave him in my room by himself."

"He's not sleeping in the bed."

"Please?"

"No."

"_Please_?" she asked, eyes wide with that look that said she knew she was going to get her way, it was only a matter of how she needed to convince him. Tristan's eyebrow arched and Rory grinned, leaning up, kissing his lips gently, "Please?"

"Leigh." He said shortly, though his tone wasn't quite so strong.

She touched her mouth to his cheek, his jaw, his chin, before sliding it to his neck, running her hands up his chest, "Please?" she whispered again, against his skin. She felt him shake lightly, gripping her upper arms to pull her closer.

"One night." He said into her ear, his voice strained. She could already feel him against her, his body tight after a week apart.

Rory smiled gently, looking up at him from hooded eyes, "One night?"

He nodded, capturing her lips in a deep kiss, one of his hands sliding steadily down to grip the back of her thigh, pulling her closer while the other one tangled in her hair, "Mhmm." He mumbled against her lips, "But _not_ tonight."

Her laughter was muted against him mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck, letting him lower her back onto the bed.

*

Rory woke slowly the next morning to Tristan kissing her neck, pulling her close against him. She opened her eyes and saw that he was still half asleep, holding her close and settling back into the mattress. She watched him almost sleeping and bit her lip, twisting around in his grip to watch him easier.

Last week Anna had stared at her crest, her face torn. She'd asked what Tristan had said when he saw it. Rory had told her that he still hadn't noticed it and Anna had stared at her for a moment in shock before telling her that she was lucky for that and needed to tell him soon. That she couldn't hide it for much longer sleeping in his bed every night and he was bound to find out no matter how quickly she pulled on his clothes to hide it. And it was true, she was getting too comfortable. It wasn't that she didn't fear him finding her crest, but as weeks passed and he didn't, she learned to internalize the fear and live with it. Eventually it crawled to the back of her mind, curled tightly and constantly. But she lived with it. It didn't keep her up nights or cause her extreme worry. She learned to live with it the way you learned to live with the fear that you would be robbed or that you would lose someone you loved.

She watched him now, sleeping quietly. There probably wasn't a better time to tell him. Not that there would ever be a _good_ time. "Tristan?" she whispered.

"Hmm?" he mumbled, tightening his grip on her.

Her heart was pounding and she could feel her palms clamming up, "I need to tell you something."

His voice was mumbled and she could tell that he still wasn't fully awake. He hadn't opened his eyes yet. "Mmm I need to tell you something too."

She pushed herself up on her elbows, looking down at him, "Yeah?"

"Mhmm." He threw his arm around her and in one swift motion rolled her over, pinning her beneath his body. He kissed her neck again, "I missed you."

She would have laughed, but her stomach was in knots. Her body wasn't even responding to his lips on her skin, "That's what you have to tell me?"

"That." He trailed his mouth down her throat, "And I am eternally in your debt. If it weren't for you I would probably be engaged to that spoiled brat from Rivenlear right now."

"What are you talking about?" she asked, dropping her head back.

He pulled back to look at her, "We were talking the night before I left, and I still hadn't decided what I was going to tell her father. I didn't want to marry her but…" he trailed off, shrugging one shoulder, "I'd given up on finding a wife that I loved." He whispered, kissing her bare shoulder gently.

Rory waited for him to say more. He didn't. "But…" she supplied for him.

He smiled gently, looking at her, "But then you came with your ridiculous ideals of a marriage based on love and you told me that I deserved that too."

She tilted her head, "Anyone would have said the same thing."

He shook his head, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, "No. No one had ever told me that before. I'd heard other people say that, but no one had ever told me that as a king I was allowed it." He looked down at her, "You never say anything that anyone else would say. You aren't like anyone else, Leigh."

She tilted her head questioningly but said nothing.

Tristan rolled off of her, staring up at the ceiling, "I'm not used to people like you."

"People like me?" she asked, turning on her side and propping herself up on her elbow to watch him.

"Yes, like you. People who are…" he trailed off, searching for a word, "real." He said finally, his face drawn in concentration.

"Oh, right, as opposed to all the imaginary ones." She said lightly, tracing her fingers down his arm.

He glanced over at her, "You know what I mean. I'm not used to people who aren't after anything. I can't think of any ulterior motive you could have, and even if you did have one I can't imagine that you wouldn't have done something about it by now."

Rory watched him quietly, hurt, "I don't have any ulterior motive."

He cut his eyes over to her, not moving his head, "I know." She looked at him uncertainly and he sighed, realizing that he hadn't conveyed what he'd meant, "What I mean is that I'm not used to honest people, people who don't lie to me left and right." He looked back towards the ceiling, "I don't trust people because as far as I can tell there almost isn't anyone who doesn't lie. Except for you." He finished quietly, his expression unreadable. They sat in silence for a stretch, guilt eating at her from the inside. "What was it you wanted to tell me?" he asked, glancing over at her.

"Oh." She swallowed, shaking her head lightly, "Just that Duke likes you."

His eyebrow arched, "Your dog likes me?" She nodded. "That was what you needed to tell me?"

"Mhmm." She nodded, "He didn't bite you. Or growl. Or try to protect me from you. He usually does one or a combination of all three, depending on how big the person I'm talking to is. But he didn't do any of it. That means he likes you." She broke off, realizing that she was rambling.

Tristan nodded slowly, his eyebrow still quirked, only this time it said that she'd lost her mind, "Well that's something."

"Yeah." She nodded, laying back down, "It's a good thing, too. Jackson, the cook's husband, got his hand nearly bitten off."

Tristan laughed lightly, wrapping his arm around her to pull her close and settle back into the mattress.

*

Later that week Rory was working with Logan, writing up training schedules for the men when they were interrupted by Max. He opened the door to the main training room, his face grave, "Leigh can I speak with you?"

She looked up at him from her place on the floor next to Logan, surprised, "Of course. What's wrong?"

He opened his mouth uncertainly and then closed it, shaking his head lightly, "I'm not sure. Come with me."

Rory exchanged a look with Logan before pushing herself off the ground and following Tristan's advisor out of the room. Once the door was closed behind them she turned to him, "What is it?"

He sighed, his face creasing, "It's Tristan. I don't know….I'm not sure what's wrong with him."

She shook her head, "Where is he? I haven't seen him all day." And it was true. She'd awoken wrapped in the sheet and Tristan already gone like he usually was. After she'd gotten up she'd gone on the run with the new guard and had sat with Logan during their daily training session. From there they'd gone to lunch and then to write up the schedules for the following week. She glanced out of a window as they passed it to see that twilight was falling.

Max nodded and started down the hall, speaking as he walked and leaving her to trail after him, "Precisely. No one has seen him because he's spent the entire day locked in his study poring over the records of trials from his first few years as king. He won't eat or rest or talk to anyone. I swear I sat in the room for an hour waiting for him to acknowledge me. Finally he said that if someone wasn't dying and the castle wasn't under attack it would have to wait. He didn't even look up." He shook his head as they emerged from the military wing into the main part of the castle, "I've never seen him like this, I don't know what's wrong with him or what he's trying to find."

Rory followed him up the main staircase, "And you think he'll tell me?" she asked quietly.

Max stopped, halfway between the first and second floor of the castle. He turned to look at her for a moment before shaking his head simply, "Doesn't he always?"

She bit her lip but had nothing to say, and so she followed him the rest of the way in silence. He brought her to the door of Tristan's study and patted her shoulder encouragingly before leaving. She scratched the back of her head, biting her lip again subconsciously as she knocked quietly on the door. There was no answer. She waited a moment before knocking again.

Silence.

"Tristan?" she called through the door.

"I'm busy." was his clipped reply.

She pushed the door open, leaning against the doorframe. His head snapped up but when he saw her his expression became wary, "Of course that wouldn't matter to _you_. Anyone else would just walk away."

Rory's lip quirked and she shrugged one shoulder, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her, "What are you doing?" she asked, walking over to his desk.

He leaned back in his chair, "Reading."

She came closer and looked down to see that his desk was littered with documents. There must have been records from fifteen trials on his desk. He watched her as she came closer, his eyes trained on her. She looked down at the paper layering his desk, craning her neck forward curiously. Names and titles and accusations and rulings and sentences all listed at the top with a description of the trial trailing down the scroll. She stopped at the side of his desk, only a few feet from him, and reach over, shifting the papers so she could see the names at the top of them; some she knew and some she didn't. _Easton. Bishop. Charleston. Samuels_….

_Hayden_.

Rory heard a ringing in her ears. She felt her body heat and her head started to pound. She pulled her hand back slowly, already worried that her thumping heart would give her away. She looked away from the paper, refusing to read what it said as her teeth clenched painfully. She'd seen some of what was written on it, though she'd tried not to…._Lord Christopher Hayden, Duke of Noran_, _is hereby_ _charged with_ _High Treason on the order of Regicide_, _sentenced to die by being drawn and quartered…_

She blinked slowly, raising her gaze to see that Tristan was watching her closely, his eyes trained on her face. She rested her hand on the edge of the desk, away from the record of her father's trial. Tristan glanced at the paper before looking back to her. He stayed silent, his face thoughtful, and for a terrifying moment she thought he would start talking to her about the Hayden trial.

But he didn't. He sat up in his chair, placing his hands on the desk, "Did you need something?"

She shook her head lightly, stepping away from the desk, "Why are you reading these?"

He looked down at the desk, biting the insides of his cheeks, "Because I haven't in a while."

"Isn't it depressing?" she asked, stepping towards the bookshelves along the walls, looking anywhere but at the papers on the table. Tristan didn't answer and after a moment she looked over to see that he was watching her scrutinizingly again. She turned towards him, "What?"

"Why would it be depressing?" he asked, shaking his head lightly.

She shrugged, feeling like she should step closer to him but not wanting to. He was emotionless. Completely and absolutely emotionless. She hadn't seen him like this since the first time he kissed her. And something about him now made her hesitate. It wasn't that he had out the Hayden trial. It was the look he'd given her when he saw her staring at it. It wasn't suspicious…..wasn't angry. It was empty. She didn't know what to make of it, but her feet wouldn't let her move towards him at all. "I don't know."

Tristan watched her silently.

"Max says you won't eat."

"Ahh." He leaned back in his chair, nodding slowly, "Now we get to it."

"He says you won't eat or take a break or leave this room or talk to anyone."

His lip quirked humorlessly, "I'm talking to you, aren't I?"

Rory brushed her hair back from her face, "But you aren't saying anything."

Tristan pursed his lips, lacing his fingers behind his head, "What do you want me to say?" She shrugged, biting the insides of her cheeks as she turned back towards the book shelves. The sound of papers shuffling and Tristan shifting in his chair rang throughout the room. Rory reached up to touch the books lining the walls, reading the titles distractedly. After a moment she glanced over her shoulder to see that he was leaning forward, reading the records. She stared at him, suspicious, before dropping her hand from the shelf. She came closer slowly, standing by the side of his desk. He didn't look up. She realized that she'd been dismissed.

Rory bit her lip, torn between hurt and fear. She didn't know what she was supposed to think. She'd seen Tristan be cruel. Seen him be dismissive. But never to her. He wasn't like this to her. She stepped back quietly, watching him as he forced himself to ignore her. She backed up to the door, reaching behind her to twist the handle. She still watched him, though, waiting to see if he'd look up as she left.

He didn't.

**

Rory jerked awake, her eyes flying open. For a moment she was disoriented. It was dark and she could hear wind whistling somewhere close; through a window. She was laying on something soft…a mattress, and a heavy weight pulled at her feet. She slowly realized that she was in Tristan's bed and wondered why she'd been so confused. She was wrapped in the blankets, Duke's dead weight weighing down the foot of the bed. The autumn wind whistled outside the large window like always and a great, comforting fire crackled in the hearth. But Tristan wasn't there.

She pushed herself up on her hands, looking around the quiet room. It was the middle of the night and Tristan's side hadn't been rumpled or compressed at all. He had never come to bed. He'd still been in his study when she'd laid down. She assumed he would grow tired and slip in quietly sometime in the night, wrap his arm around her and pull her close; either kiss down her neck to wake her up so he could make up for his earlier actions or whisper gently into her ear before falling asleep against her back.

But he never had.

Rory wasn't sure what had woken her: the absence of his body when she knew he was supposed to be there, the chill that assaulted her because she wasn't wrapped in his warm arms, or the fact that Duke was crushing her foot. She thought it was probably the last, but the first two sounded better. She sat up completely, shifting her foot out from underneath the dog. He gurgled sleepily but had no other reaction. She looked around, wondering if Tristan was still in his study. A glow under the door caught her attention and she narrowed her eyes, leaning forward. Light danced in the gap between the door and the floor. There was a fire in the lounge. She threw the covers off, running a hand through her hair as she slid out of bed, swinging her leg over the side. The icy stone stung her feet and made her hop over to the door, her knee-length nightgown swirling around her thighs. She stopped at the door, pressing her lips together. She wasn't completely alert but was still in that stupor between consciousness and rest, so normally she might not have walked out there after the way Tristan had treated her earlier that day. She would have read the warning in his cold dismissal that afternoon and his absence that night. But, as it was, she opened the door.

Tristan was sitting on the couch, his gaze locked on something on the table. He was tense, his face tight and hard. She leaned against the doorframe, tilting her head and smiling affectionately. He looked up at her reluctantly as she entered and his face softened reflexively, ever so slightly. A moment later it was solid again and he turned back to the document before him. She could tell that he hadn't meant for his face to warm at the sight of her.

She realized that it would be wisest to just turn around and go back to bed. But she hated seeing him like this.

Rory came over to the couch, folding herself neatly next to him, her body turned towards him and one leg tucked under her. "Aren't you tired?" she asked, yawning.

He shook his head, not looking away from the paper before him, "No."

"It's the middle of the night."

"I know." His voice was clipped and empty.

Rory tilted her head, her gaze travelling over his profile. He ignored her. She shifted forward and laid a slow, open mouthed kiss on his neck. He didn't respond and so she trailed her lips lower, placing another on the junction of his neck and shoulder, scraping her teeth over the skin. At that she felt him shiver but it didn't feel the same as when he normally did.

He swore quietly, shrugging her away, "Leigh you're distracting me."

She pulled back, annoyed but trying not to show it, "That's kind of the point."

"I'm busy."

Rory leaned back and bit her lip, watching him. Whatever had been bothering him earlier was still gnawing at him. She glanced down to see what he was reading so intently and the world froze. There were several sheets of paper on the table, all comprising one document. Her gaze slid to the top of the first page._ Hayden_. She closed her eyes, pushing back the words that burned the back of her eyes…_Lord Christopher Hayden, Duke of Noran_, _is hereby_ _charged with_ _High Treason on the order of Regicide_…

She slammed her hand on the paper, not even sure which part of the trial he was reading about. In her mind every word listed her father as a traitor. If she had expected Tristan to jump at the crack that resounded throughout the room she was disappointed. He just stared at her hand, covering his reading, before slowly turning his face towards her, his expression bland. She looked at him from behind a sheet of thick brunette waves, "Come to bed." She implored quietly.

His face didn't soften this time, "I'm not tired." He took her wrist in his hand and moved it lightly from the page before him. His shoulders were tight, his entire body tense, and she got the distinct impression that he wished she would have just stayed in bed.

Rory closed her eyes, pressing her lips together. She didn't move. She had no idea what was wrong with him. She didn't think he'd figured anything out. If he had then why wasn't he saying anything about it? She thought, she _hoped_, that their conversation several weeks before had just made him think about it, because even if he did know who she was now there was nothing for her to do. She blinked, looking up at him with wide eyes, "Tristan please?" she whispered.

She saw his jaw clench and she wasn't sure if he was pushing back the urge to hit her or follow her, "No, Leigh. Go back to bed."

Rory shook her head, exasperated, "What is wrong, Tristan?" her voice came out louder and sharper than she'd meant for it to.

She was rewarded with his head snapping around to look at her. His eyes and voice were dead. "Nothing's wrong, Leigh. Why, should there be?"

She looked at him, her anger fizzing out. Her face was still, her eyes narrowing slightly, "What?"

He didn't respond but locked gazes with her and she was shocked to realize that his eyes were far from dead. He stared at her with an intensity she'd rarely seen in him, as if he were trying to see through her eyes and into her mind, into her soul. But it wasn't the way he usually looked deeply into her. This, he wasn't trying to understand her; he was trying to make her admit something. She wondered what she was supposed to have done to make him act like this. She wasn't sure what to do, but she stared back. She didn't try to read him or figure him out the way he was trying to solve her; she just looked.

Without warning Tristan's body cocked back. He blinked rapidly, staring at her as if he'd never seen her before. His face was enveloped in disbelief. He opened his mouth as if he would say something, but shook his head, turning away, "Go to bed, Leigh." His voice was muted.

She thought about fighting him but decided against it. She bit her lip, looking towards the bedroom, "I don't want to sleep in there."

She looked back at him to see that his eyes were closed, either because he didn't want to look at her or as if he were counting in his head, pushing back his anger so it didn't explode on her, "Leigh." His voice was hollow, "Go to bed."

Rory opened her mouth but something in the pit of her stomach cut off her voice. She sighed quietly, standing in one smooth motion, "Fine. Enjoy your reading."

He snorted humorlessly but said nothing as she went into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

**

Rory was with Nick, Callum, and Dorian the next afternoon, practicing with their swords. She felt a weight in her chest and she didn't know what to do with it. She'd barely slept after going back into the bedroom alone, tossing and turning without him there. Not to mention the fact that she'd spent the night driving herself mad trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him. When she'd gotten up that morning he was already gone.

The three boys she was with now were trying valiantly to cheer her up, taking their free practice time and doing everything they could think of to make her smile. They'd been at it for nearly two hours and it had just begun to work when they were interrupted by Logan. He approached them cautiously, his face apologetic. Callum either didn't notice or chose to ignore it with all the other stresses and awkwardness that seemed to engulf all of them now. He waved jovially, "Hey Logan."

He nodded, his mouth tight, "Hey Callum. Nick. Dorian." He nodded to all of them in acknowledgement and they nodded back. He turned then to Rory and his expression became more desolate, "Hey Leigh, I need you to come with me."

She tilted her head, her face drawing in concern, "What's wrong?"

Logan shook his head, beckoning her to him, "Come on, you're going to hate me."

Rory felt her eyes widen as she stepped towards him, "Logan, what's going on?"

"Here, let's go." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, leading her away from the three young men who were watching him with looks that suggested they were considering either refusing to let him take Leigh or going along to make sure she was alright.

Once they were out of earshot of the others she turned to him, "What is this, Logan?"

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. His face crumbled and Rory was taken aback at how remorseful he was, "I'm sorry, Leigh, I'm so sorry." Was all he said, his voice quiet.

She slammed her heels down on the dry, brittle grass. She could feel the cold through the soles of her shoes, "Logan, you're scaring me."

He looked at her helplessly, his usually warm eyes sadder than she'd ever seen them. "What did you do?" he asked finally, his voice tired.

"What?" she shook her head, confused.

He looked away from her, putting his fist over his mouth as if trying to think of what to say. He turned back to her, "Tristan just had me brought to his study. When I walked in I thought he'd lost his mind. He was _livid_, Leigh, livid like I've never seen him before. He told me to come get you and…" he trailed off, his brows creasing.

She watched him, waiting for him to go on. "And…" she supplied.

Logan swore under his breath, looking like he wanted to hit something, "And he told me to take you to the East Tower."

Rory stared at him, saying nothing. Her mind didn't even comprehend what he'd just said, let alone her body. She didn't have the ability to react to it. They stood in pushing silence for a stretch, staring at each other. The East Tower? She wasn't going to the East Tower? She wouldn't. She couldn't. The only people who stayed in the East Tower were criminals. Not normal criminals, of course, they were kept in the dungeon. It was rare, in Hartford, for a noble to commit a crime, and even rarer that they were actually tried for it. But when they were, they were held in the East Tower until their trial. It wasn't dirty, and it wasn't _like_ a dungeon, but that was what it was. She'd never been there herself but she'd heard that the five rooms were furnished and decorated as tastefully and comfortably as any room in the castle. But that wasn't the point. It was a prison. She opened her mouth as if she would speak but didn't. She scrunched her eyes and forehead, shaking her head lightly, her voice came out, half exasperated laugh and half disbelief, "What?"

He looked at her for a moment, tightening his mouth, "I told him I wouldn't do it, Leigh, I said I wasn't going to. I told him that he'd lost his mind and he had no idea what he was doing…" he trailed off shaking his head, "But he insisted. He didn't want a military escort or anything official, he just wanted me to come get you. I wasn't going to but you know how he gets and as much as I don't want to take you….he's the king. I have to do what he tells me. I asked him why and all he said was, _'She knows.'_ Do you know what he's talking about? Can you think of anything you've done that would get you sent to the East Tower?"

Rory watched Logan, shaking her head lightly, "No." she whispered, her voice small. He watched her sadly for a moment before taking her elbow and leading her into the castle and up a flight of stairs in the east wing. She hadn't precisely told him the truth. She was sure the fact that she was a Hayden was more than enough reason to land her in the East Tower, but as far as she knew Tristan still didn't know. He'd been reading the papers on the trial and he'd been distant the previous day, but she imagined that if he found out who she really was…there would have been more than a day of giving her the cold shoulder. She didn't think he had the patience or a reason, really, to play mind games with her.

Logan led her down a hallway and up several more flights of stairs before stopping in front of an ornate door. It was heavy and sturdy, but the part that struck her most was the fact that there were three different keys required to open in. She watched as he pulled a key ring from his shirt and unlocked the door, pushing it open for her. It led to another hallway, carpeted in a thick, rich red. Tapestries hung on the walls and each of the doors had multiple locks, each requiring a different key. Logan led her down the hall to one of the far rooms. She wanted to feel something….tried to feel something, anything, but couldn't. Tristan had sent her here? For what purpose? Was he putting her on trial?

Belatedly Rory realized that Logan was talking as he unlocked a heavy oak door, "…in years. The last time anyone was kept here must have been at least six year ago. And this is the nicest of the rooms." He pushed the door open and stepped to the side, allowing her to see. She stepped into the doorway, looking around curiously. It was nice enough, just as nice as the room she'd been given, as nice as any spare room in the castle. There was no mirror or closet but there was a bed, a desk with a chair, a few books, and a window with bars running criss-crossed over it. Someone had already brought several of her dresses.

Logan stood behind her in silence. She inhaled deeply, turning to look at him, "Well that's something." She said quietly.

He furrowed his brow, tilting his head sympathetically, "Leigh, I promise you, we're doing everything we can to get you out of this. I don't know what he's thinking. This moment Max is yelling at him, trying to get him to think clearly." He squeezed her shoulders gently, "I don't know what happened, though I imagine you do. You don't have to tell me and that's fine, but we're trying."

She laughed lightly, humorlessly. She really didn't know. She knew a possibility, but she didn't think it likely that Tristan had found out who she was. And even if he had it wasn't like him to involve everyone in the castle. "You don't know?"

"What?"

"Why he would put me in here?" she asked, her voice dull.

"No." he said simply, shaking his head. His expression shifted ever so slightly, "But…" he trailed off, thinking, "I know in the past week rumors have started spreading about you. And Callum." Her eyes snapped wide. Logan flinched, "And Martin." He said quietly.

Rory shook her head, "_What?_"

He nodded, "I know. Tristan came to me a few days ago and asked what I thought of the rumors."

"And?"

"And," Logan nodded his head from side to side thoughtfully, "I asked if my name was included in that too, because I couldn't imagine they were saying it about the two of them and not me."

"_You?"_ she snorted, still shocked.

A depressing shadow of amusement passed over his face and she was sure that if the situation weren't so dire he would make a comment about her disbelief, but he just went on, "He said that my name was included in the rumors but he dismissed it as soon as he heard it." He shrugged lightly, "I told him that he should have dismissed the others just as quickly." Logan sighed, shaking his head, "I don't know what's gotten into him Leigh…" he broke off, looking at her uncertainly, "You _haven't_, have you?" her jaw dropped but she wasn't even able to begin her furious reply before he held up his hands, "Alright, alright. I was sure you hadn't but…" he shook his head, "I don't think he believes it. In fact I know he doesn't, he would've done something about it as soon as he heard…" Logan trailed off as if he would say more but stopped, flexing his fingers thoughtfully. He glanced around the room, clicking his teeth, "And uhm one more thing, Tristan wanted me to drop you off here and go straight back but there's something else you should know."

Rory felt her stomach drop. She didn't know that she could take any more, "What?"

Logan sighed heavily, dropping his head, "After he told me to come get you and I refused we got into an argument and…he said something to me about your parents." He looked up at her, his face remorseful, "I'm so sorry Leigh, I never imagined that by now you hadn't told him." She felt herself pale. She felt herself pale so much and so quickly that she was sure she didn't have any blood left in her face. Logan grimaced, "I asked if he meant Luke and Rachel or your birth parents and he…" Logan shook his head lightly, "He was livid before but he became _furious_. He asked what I was talking about and I told him what you told me when we were on our way back from your home village, about your parents dying and you going to live with your father's cousin and then her dying…and how your parents now took you in."

He broke off slowly, his face tight and uncertain. Rory said nothing, just stared at him in shock. They stood like that for a stretch, silence surrounding them.

"Oh my..." She whispered finally, her hand over her mouth. She slid slowly to the ground, her back against the wall. As if things weren't bad enough. She was sure Tristan wouldn't just dismiss Logan's name from that list now.

He sighed, exasperated, lacing his fingers together at the back of his head, "I am _so_ sorry, Leigh. I swear to you, I had no idea. If I'd thought even for a moment that you hadn't told him by now…" he trailed off, shaking his head. He squatted in front of her so that they were on eye level, "I'll do whatever I can to get you out of this. Whatever it is you did, I can help you make it right."

Rory smiled weakly, pulling her hand from her mouth to touch his face lightly, "Logan," she whispered, shaking her head, "I don't know what I did."

**

Rory was laying on the floor the next day, staring up at the patterns the rough stone made in the ceiling. The room really was comfortable. Thick tapestries hung on the walls, soft carpets littered the floor. The bed was nice, though not nearly as nice as Tristan's, and the bars on the window were placed close enough together to prevent escape, but far enough apart that they didn't obstruct her view of the landscape. There was a fire crackling in the hearth; it had already been lit when Logan led her here the day before and a servant must have come while she slept to replenish it. When she'd awoken a tray of food had already been set in on the desk. She'd ignored it. Someone she'd never seen before, a quiet, subservient teenage girl, had brought lunch but she hadn't touched that either. When she awoke she'd attempted to braid her hair in the tight, clean plaits that Anna did but she was out of the habit of it by now and she had only gotten frustrated, eventually twisting her hair into two braids that fell over her shoulders. They'd come loose now, strands escaping around her face and the braids flowing easily.

So she laid on the soft rug, nodding her head from side to side, so bored she wanted to scrape her way through the wall just to get outside. Just to have something to stimulate her mind. The patterns on the ceiling were changing. She didn't think they were supposed to. Maybe she was losing her mind. That wasn't a good sign considering she'd been in the room for a little less than a day. She'd crack under this kind of isolation. Whatever it was Tristan wanted out of her he'd get if this went on much longer.

She heard locks turning and realized it had been several hours since the girl had come in with lunch. She'd already decided to amuse herself by seeing how long it would take to make the girl talk back. Rory shook her head, even though the girl coming in couldn't see her yet, "Nope!" she called as the last lock turned, "Don't want any. I'm not hungry." The door opened but she didn't shift her gaze from the ceiling. "There's no point in eating when I haven't moved since I woke up. Food is not necessary when you don't do anything with it." There was no response, but she knew the girl was there. Probably staring at her considering she could hear no movement but no one had left. She went on thoughtfully, "Did you know that the stone makes a pattern on the ceiling? Yeah, it does. I'm thinking of taking the next two months and trying to find words in it. Maybe shapes. Or ohh, maybe even animals, you know like people do in the clouds?" she fell silent waiting for an answer. None came. She smacked her lips before pursing them in the silence. "Yes…I think I'll go with animals."

There was another stretch of silence before she heard a voice, "What _on earth_ are you doing?"

Rory's forehead scrunched, "Anna?" she pushed herself up into a sitting position and twisted around to stare at the maid who was holding a tray of food and staring at her as if she'd lost her mind….which, in all honesty, she was on the path for. "Anna!" she jumped up and staggered over, her legs not used to the weight.

The old maid shook her head, setting the tray on the desk, "What were you doing?"

She shrugged, hitching her chin up, "Staring at the ceiling. It's the most responsive thing in the room."

Anna's eyebrows arched, "Are those braids too tight? They seem to be cutting off the blood flow to your brain."

"Ha!" Rory motioned towards her, "She has jokes. How lovely."

Anna shook her head, going over to stir the fire, "Why don't you do something productive, like read a book or knit something?"

Rory's nose wrinkled, "…knit….something…" she spoke the words slowly, as if she'd never heard them before. She trailed off, smacking her lips again. Anna muttered something under her breath that Rory couldn't make out. She followed her over to the hearth, "So how did you get in? Did you have to bribe someone? Threaten anyone? Beat the mute over the head until she gave up my tray?"

"Rory!" she scolded, shooting a glare.

She shrugged, yawning, "I'm just saying."

"Rebecca is perfectly capable of speaking."

"Mhmm, yes, I'm sure, just not to me."

"I'm sure she's been ordered not to." Anna explained, tossing another small log onto the fire.

"One can only hope."

Anna rolled her eyes, shaking her head, "You're impossible." She pointed towards the chair, "Now, sit." Rory did so flouncingly, waving her arms around her head gracefully as she settled back into the chair. Anna slid the tray in front of her, "Eat."

Rory looked down at the bread, fruit, and cheese on her plate, wrinkling her nose, "I'd rather not."

"_Eat_." She repeated in a tone that plainly said she hadn't asked for Rory's opinion. The younger girl sighed exaggeratedly, ripping off an unnecessarily large chunk of bread and shoving it into her mouth unattractively. Anna turned back towards the fire as she spoke wryly, "Don't choke."

"Thfm schept uu." Rory mumbled around the wad of bread in her mouth.

Anna turned, horrified at her manners, "Excuse me?"

Rory held a finger up, chewing thickly. She nodded her head to the maid, pointing to her mouth before swallowing painfully, "I said," her voice was scratchy, "That's sweet of you."

The older woman scoffed, turning back towards the hearth, "That's not what you said. You weren't speaking in any known language." Rory snorted a laugh before picking an apple off her plate and hitting it lightly on the table, flattening the rounded edges. She still wasn't hungry. "Now." Anna started, walking over to her, "What is this all about? No one knows why you're in here."

Rory smirked, "Well at least I'm not alone, then."

Anna's forehead scrunched, "You don't know why you're in here either?"

Rory held her hands up, her voice light and unconcerned, "Nope."

"Huh." Anna put her hands on her hips, looking around thoughtfully, "Strange." She muttered, walking over to make Rory's bed. "What did Tristan say, when you told him?"

"When I told him what?" she asked, staring at the apple in her hands as she gouged at the peel with her fingernails.

"Well when you told him who you really are, of course." Anna answered, snapping the sheet to get the wrinkles out.

"Oh…" Rory trailed off, her hands stilling on the apple. She felt it the moment Anna's eyes settled on her in a glare.

"_You_ _never told him?_" she snapped, walking around the bed.

"Well…" Rory shrugged, setting the apple on the table, "Not in so many words, no."

"Rory!" she yelled.

"Ahh, ahhh, yeah I know." She mumbled, cringing.

Anna sighed, watching Rory closely, "You don't think that's what this is about, do you?"

She bit her lip, leaning her elbows on the table thoughtfully, "Well…no, not really. I don't know. He's been reading the papers from my father's trial, but he hasn't said anything to me to insinuate that he knows." She shook her head lightly, "I don't know, Logan told me that Tristan asked him a few days ago about rumors he's heard about me with Callum, Marty, and Logan…but he said Tristan didn't believe them." She grimaced, nodding her head from side to side thoughtfully, "Of course, I'm sure he's even angrier now considering Logan told him about my parents."

"What?" Anna interrupted her.

Rory briefly told her about how she'd told Logan a revised story about her parents and how she wound up in Luke and Rachel's care, but she hadn't told Tristan. And how Logan had assumed that she'd told him. Anna's eyebrows continued to arch further as Rory's story went on. "So now," she said finally, exasperated, "he's going to be even angrier. He'll be livid that I told Logan something I didn't tell him."

Anna sighed, shaking her head, "You have to tell him, Rory. You have to tell him who you are."

"I know." She said quietly.

"Immediately." She insisted, "The next time you see him. He needs to know if he doesn't already."

Rory looked up at Anna, touching the old maid's hand gently, "I _know_."

**

Rory was sitting at the desk the next day, flipping through one of the books in the room without actually reading or comprehending what it was saying. Anna had left late the previous night, promising that she'd come back, but she'd yet to show. The silent wench had returned twice: once to bring breakfast and once to bring lunch, both of which Rory had refused. It was getting late now, though, and she was expecting the door to open again soon with dinner. She hoped it was Anna. It almost made her laugh, actually, to think back four months before, Anna would have been the last person she would actually_ hope_ to see walk through a door.

She was halfway through the book, flipping pages thoughtlessly, when she heard the locks turn in quick succession. Her head snapped up. It definitely wasn't the mute girl. She stood as the door flew open violently….she was betting it wasn't Anna either, then. And she was right.

Tristan strode into the room, slamming the door behind him. She opened her mouth, unable to speak through her shock. Shock that he was there. Shock for the way he was glaring at her as if he thought to set fire to her with his eyes. "Tristan…" she said quietly, surprised.

He didn't falter but came towards her with steady, angry strides, "Lift up your skirt."

She took a step back, confused, "What?"

"_Lift up your skirt_." He repeated, his voice acidic.

Rory shook her head lightly as she took another step away from him, uncertain of what he was here for, "Tristan, no…"

He was even with her now and her voice cut off as he grabbed her upper arms roughly, his hands vices, "_Yes_." He snarled.

"_No_." she protested, trying to push him away to no avail. Her arms pounded where he clenched them and she knew that she'd have bruises in the morning, "Tristan, _don't_."

His face shifted ever so slightly to take on a hint of disgusts as well as fury as he realized what she was protesting, what she thought he might be doing, "Don't worry, _Mary_." He growled as he grabbed her skirt himself, shoving it up, "I won't defile you again."

Rory felt herself pale. If he wasn't here for sex then there was only one other reason he'd be lifting up her skirt. She thought about pushing him away but by this point it would do no good, so she just pulled her hands back, fists clenched subconsciously, and bit her, lip, watching him. He was staring at her hip, his eyes wide and his breathing shallow and fast, his gaze locked on her crest. She saw that although he'd expected and known, he'd wanted to be wrong. Silence engulfed them, the only sounds Tristan's breathing and her own blood pounding in her ears. They only stood there for a moment but it felt like an eternity, everything moving in slow motion. Tristan brought everything back to normal time.

"_Hayden_." He spat as if the word were vile; she flinched. He swore under his breath, shoving back from her and twisting away, raising his hands to his forehead. Her skirt flowed back down to the ground. He stood shaking his head and she could see the anger in the lines of his body.

"Tristan," she said quietly.

"I'm such an _idiot_." He said, almost to himself as he twisted around, staring at her coldly, "I must have seen your crest at least half a dozen times, do you know that? But it never even crossed my mind that that was what it was." He shook his head, "It was always too dark, too late, to really see it, to get a good look at it. I thought it was just a scar, just like any other burn, and I never wanted to ask you about it because I assumed that you didn't want to talk about it, that if it was important you would've told me." He scoffed, turning away from her, "I assumed you'd tell me the truth on something. _Idiot_." He muttered the last to himself, pacing the room in front of her.

"Tristan." She whispered again, gently.

"No!" he turned on her, his voice commanding and so heated it almost burned her skin, "No. You will not address me so informally, _Lorelai Hayden_." She flinched but he went on, "I swear, I was so blinded by something about you, I couldn't see straight when it came to you. I'd seen it but the thought that it was a family crest never even entered my mind until a few days ago when I was talking to Max and Mitchum about the different methods of marking the noble families and one of them brought up the Haydens…." He shook his head in disbelief, "And all I could think was how dense I've been." He looked over at her, his face closed off, "So that's it, then? That's why you're always jumping under the covers and putting on my clothes, saying it's because you're cold? It's not because you're actually cold, is it?"

She bit her lip, feeling very small, "No." she whispered.

Tristan nodded, scoffing as he started pacing again, "No, I didn't think so. And then two nights ago after you fell asleep I looked at it and I didn't…" he trailed off, shaking his head, "I still didn't want to believe it. So I started looking through the old trial records, trying to figure out if you were the right age and looked like the Haydens and how you could have gotten into Stars Hollow, and what do you know, I found a cousin of Christopher Hayden's who lived there." He stopped talking and turned to look at her.

Her eyes were downcast but she raised them slowly to look at him, "Laurel." She whispered.

He nodded, "Laurel Stanford and her husband, Jason. And funny enough, at the time of the Haydens' death they had an eight year old daughter, _Lorelai Leigh Gilmore-Hayden_. And then in the Hayden papers I found a sketch of the crest." He shook his head, his voice thick with bitter amusement, "And do you know, even after all that I still almost convinced myself that it wasn't true. That you weren't her." He broke off and she heard the miniscule break in his voice though he tried to hide it with his indifference, "And then last night, when you came out to talk to me and I looked you in the eye, you just stared back." He shook his head lightly, "and then I knew. Because the day she died, I stared Lorelai Hayden in the eye, because I had to know why my father was dead." He swallowed and she saw him hardening himself, his voice rough, "And she gave me _nothing_." Tristan cracked his jaw, his breathing controlled, "And last night, when I looked into your eyes, all I saw was her."

Rory looked up at him, biting her lip. She could feel tears pushing at the back of her eyes. Her hands shook. "They always said I looked just like her."

Tristan choked, looking away from her. She saw his jaw tighten and he shook his head, his mouth hardening into a thin line. His voice when he spoke was saturated with hate and self-loathing, "I thought, for some reason, that you were so good. So perfect. So honest. The only person in all the world who wasn't after anything. You never pushed me for more. You never asked me to elevate your status. You never asked for money or land and I thought, stupid me, that there was a reason for that. I thought that for once there was someone who didn't want me so they could get something, someone who didn't want me just for power or my title or even just my body-" she looked up at that and at her expression he stopped, his eyebrow arching, "You think I was the only one using someone before? Really? You don't think all those women were just using me too, Leigh? You think they wanted more than just my body? You're naïve, then. Even more so that you realize. It's always about money or power or sex…but for once, it wasn't. For once there was someone who wanted me for no other reason than that they cared, or just that they wanted _me_. Not a king, not a body." He shook his head, disgusted, "But it was all a lie, so that I would be more lenient because I had affection for you."

"No-" she started to protest but he cut her off with a look.

He said nothing for a stretch, pacing back and forth slowly, his head down. She didn't say anything either, unsure of where they stood. After a moment he turned and from the look on his face she knew what was coming wasn't going to be good, "I don't get it."

"Don't get what?" she asked quietly.

"Why are you here?!" he exploded, shaking his head. Up to this point he'd been harsh and angry, but how his rage burned her, it rang in her ears and made her shrink, "What's the point? You say it's not so I'll be lenient, then what? Is this some kind of game to you? _'Tristan is so stupid, let's see how long I can fuck him before he'll figure out who I really am?' _Is that what this is to you?"

She flinched, her eyes widening, "No-"

He cut her off, still ranting, "Did you want to see how long it would be? How much shit you could put me through and how much you could break me before I'd realize who you were?"

"No!" she shook her head, stepping towards him.

"I mean, really, why? Why did you do this? Why did you let this happen? The first time when I kissed you and pulled away why the hell did you kiss me back?!" he yelled.

She reached out towards him, shaking her head, "Tristan I never meant for-" she broke off as he jerked away from her, his eyes snapping. She pulled her hand back shakily, pressing her lips together, "I didn't mean for it. It wasn't…it wasn't a game. And I never meant to hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me." He snarled.

Rory licked her lips, her shoulders falling, "Tristan I swear it wasn't a game."

He looked at her for a moment without responding. After a moment he swore quietly, turning away from her, "Four months, Leigh? Four fucking months? And you never told me. How the hell is that not a game to you?"

She scoffed, shocked, "What was I supposed to say?"

He shook his head, throwing his arms out, "Oh I don't know, how about _'Hey, since somehow I find myself always waking up next to you, my name isn't actually Leigh Danes and I'm not really some country girl?' _How is that for you?"

Rory bit her lip, looking away from him, "I was _going_ to tell you."

He gave her a look that asked if she thought he was stupid, "When? When Logan finally made you?"

"What?" her head snapped up, "What are you talking about? Logan doesn't know."

Tristan gave her a bitter look, "He knew all about your parents. Logan knew a hell of a lot more than I did."

"That was…" she trailed off, shaking her head, "The only reason I told him was because of one situation, it isn't that I would have told him before you-"

Again he cut her off, "Told him? _Told_ him, Leigh? No, you didn't tell anyone anything. You _lied_ to him. You lied to all of us, you just spat different ones." She looked up at him, saying nothing. He scoffed, shaking his head as if at a loss for words. He turned away, taking several steps from her, forming his thoughts before turning back, "Why didn't you tell me?" he whispered finally, his voice hard but grave. Rory looked away, pushing back tears. She couldn't look at him, not when he tried to hide how upset he was but she could still see it. There was something in his voice when he said that, it was different from the anger and so much stronger. He was hurt. "After all that's happened, after everything, why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't tell you." She whispered, feeling tears pool in her eyes.

"Why?" he repeated, his voice shaking slightly.

Rory turned to face him. She looked up at him from behind a sheet of loping waves, biting her lip, "Because I didn't want to die." She whispered finally, refusing to let the tears fall.

Tristan's face shifted ever so slightly. There was a mixture of confusion and shock. He staggered back from her a step, "What?"

Rory shook her head lightly, "I'm so sorry, Tristan, I didn't want to die."

He narrowed his eyes, looking at her as if he'd never seen her before, "You think I'd have you killed?"

She blinked at the shock in his voice, the edge of anger. She shrugged helplessly, "I didn't know. I don't…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

"You honestly think after everything, I could have you killed? That I would ever let you die?" he shook his head, looking at her as if she'd lost her mind, "No, Leigh, no, God help me, that's the last thing I want."

Her head shot up, "What?"

Tristan didn't answer. He seemed to have deflated. He stepped away from her, shaking his head in disbelief. He sat on the desk's chair heavily, rubbing his face tiredly, "A Hayden." He muttered before cursing. They sat in silence for a stretch, Rory watching him without breathing. He stared at the ground before her, leaned over with his elbows on his knees thoughtfully. She watched, her heart pounding as an idea seemed to form in his mind. "_A Hayden_." He repeated, slowly raising his gaze to her face, "You're a Hayden."

Rory bit the insides of her cheeks, tilting her head forward, "Yes…" she said slowly.

He stood, looking at her cautiously, his voice coming out in a whisper, "So then you know."

She felt something within her freeze, "I know what?"

Tristan took a step towards her, "Why he died."

"Oh." She took a step back, holding one hand up to keep him away, "No, Tristan."

"You know." He insisted, "I know you know."

Rory shook her head, "No, we aren't doing this."

"But you do know."

She exhaled heavily, stepping further away, "Tristan please don't make me do this."

"Tell me." He kept coming towards her slowly, his eyes bright. Rory pressed her lips together stubbornly, shaking her head violently. She couldn't. She wouldn't tell him that her father had killed his after his father raped her mother and sister, not after learning how the act disgusted him. She wouldn't tell him that his father was guilty of it. Her back hit the wall and she had nowhere else to go. "Tell me." He repeated, standing in front of her.

Rory dropped her gaze, closing her eyes, "No."

"What?" she could hear the anger in his voice, "Why not?"

"Because you don't want to know."

"Yes I do." He answered, and she could hear the pain in his voice through the anger, "Yes I do, and I deserve to know. I deserve to know why he had to die. I deserve to know why the only person who had ever really loved me had to be taken from me. I deserve to know why my father was murdered in my own home and why he left me alone." He gripped her upper arms as hard as he had before, "Tell me."

Rory looked up at him and she felt tears in her own eyes. For him. For her. For their fathers. "No." there was a finality in her voice.

She expected him to rage, expected him to yell, but he didn't. When his voice came out it was only broken, too tired of betrayal and lies to get worked up again. It cracked, "Why?"

Rory blinked rapidly, shaking her head gently as she whispered, "Because it will only hurt you more."

"Tell me." He said quietly.

"Tristan, please don't make me. I don't want to hurt you any more."

"Leigh." He said her name quietly, pleadingly, like he had so many nights before. And she knew she wouldn't be able to keep it from him much longer. She knew he had the right to know. He stretched his arms out and put his hands flat on the wall on either side of her, trapping her in, "Please."

She opened her mouth, torn, "Tristan…" he tilted his head forward encouragingly. Rory bit her lip, sighing, "It was….self defense."

His head cocked back, surprised, "What?"

"My father…he didn't mean to. It was an accident. They got into an argument and he killed your father in self defense."

Tristan shook his head, "No. No, you don't understand. My father wasn't…he wasn't violent."

Rory shrugged, "He was that night."

"Leigh, they found my father in one of the conference rooms run through the chest with a sword." She flinched but his voice was emotionless, "That isn't an accident."

"It was." She insisted, "My father went to speak to him." She shook her head lightly, "I don't know how the conversation went but he got defensive and my father said the king attacked him." She shook her head, "I don't know what else to tell you. That's all I know."

Tristan narrowed his eyes slowly, "I talked to Christopher Hayden before he died but he wouldn't tell me anything. All he said was that his conscience was clear and he would do anything for his family. He wouldn't say any more but there was a _reason_ he killed him. There was a reason he came here that night. I know it." Something must have changed in Rory's expression because Tristan's eyes caught on her, "You know that too." She opened her mouth slowly, cautiously, but he spoke again, "_And_ you know what it is."

She shook her head, "No."

"You said it would hurt me."

"It will."

"I have to know."

She shook her head, breaking her gaze from his and looking down, "It's been so long, Tristan. Can't you just leave it?"

He didn't answer. Instead he slid two fingers under her chin, tilting her face up towards his. She met his gaze nervously, "Leigh." He whispered simply, running his thumb along her jawline.

She bit her lip and exhaled slowly. Her mouth opened resignedly, "He raped them." She whispered, her voice small and apologetic.

Tristan's body froze as if he heard her but couldn't comprehend what she'd said, "What?"

"He raped my mother and my sister. I don't know…" she trailed off, shaking her head lightly, "I don't know everything that happened but I know my father went to speak to him that night and…" she broke off, her breath coming out shaky, "Tristan I'm so sorry."

He narrowed his eyes, pulling his hands away from her, "You're lying."

Rory felt her chest constrict, "I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"No, Tristan, I wish I were but I'm not. He did and my father went to talk to him and it got violent-"

"How would you know? What makes you think that your father would say the truth if it would endanger him?" he shook his head stubbornly, "My father….my father wanted Lorelai but he would never have done that."

Rory shook her head compassionately, wanting to touch him but holding herself back, "I'm sorry."

"That's not true." He snapped, stepping away from her, "You don't know what you're talking about. My father would never _rape_ anyone." He spat the word as if it were vile.

She bit her lip, this time reaching out to him, "Tristan."

He jerked back from her touch, "Get out."

"I-"

He spoke between clenched teeth, "I swear Leigh, get out or I'll do something we'll both regret."

She looked at him sympathetically for another moment before stepping around him and ducking for the door. Once she was out of the room she broke loose, tearing through the hall and down several flights of stairs, her fear streaming behind her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest and hear blood rushing in her ears. She was alive. She was alive. She couldn't believe it. She wasn't sure where her feet were taking her until she slammed the door open to her bedroom, the one they'd given her when she'd first left the barracks of the new guard. Anna, who'd been sitting in the rocking chair mending one of Rory's dresses, jumped and called out something in the name of God.

Her eyes widened as she stood from the chair, "Rory? What in the world?" she looked around before her eyes fell back on the girl before her. She gasped, "Did you _escape_?"

"No. No." she stepped into the room and realized that she was shaking, "No, I didn't. He let me out."

Anna shook her head, confused, "Wha…"

"He knows. He knows who I am and I think-I think he might kill me now." Anna's eyes widened and she went on, "Not because of that. I don't think he was really as mad about that. It's, it's that I told him, I told him what happened, back when his father died. When my dad killed his father. I told him why…I told him…" she shook her head, pacing as she babbled, "God, what was I thinking? I shouldn't have told him, I should have lied. He'll kill me for it. He'll never forgive me for telling him because now I destroyed his father for him. I broke everything that kept him going, I-"

"Rory!" Anna grabbed her shoulders, cutting her off, "Breathe."

"I can't!" she yelled, "What am I supposed to do? I'm such an idiot! He's going to kill me, honestly, I think he might-"

But she never got to finish. The door slammed open, cutting her off and making both of them twist around. Tristan stood there with his chest heaving and his eyes snapping, one hand still on the door. His eyes were on Rory, "Get out." She opened her mouth, confused. It didn't seem like he was speaking to her.

Anna pulled away from her, stepping between them, "Tristan." She said slowly, calmly; the way one might speak to a disturbed person holding a weapon.

"Don't make me order you, Anna. You know I hate that." His voice was heated, his gaze never leaving Rory. The maid opened her mouth to say something but he cut her off, "_Anna_!"

Anna closed her mouth, glancing at Rory before stepping towards the door, "Don't destroy your life." She whispered to Tristan as she left.

He acted as if he hadn't heard her. His face didn't change and he didn't look away from Rory. He came into the room, slamming the door behind him, "Is that why you pull away?"

Her eyebrows drew together, "What?"

"Sometimes when you're in my bed, you pull away or you hesitate…or…you get this look on your face like you don't know why you're there." He wasn't mad anymore, she could see that. He was confused and he was lost. She stepped closer to him uncertainly. He went on, "When you think I'm not looking you're different. Is that why? Is that what it is every night when you're in my bed? A rape? Do you feel like you have to? Because I never-"

She cut him off, her eyes widening, "No, no, no, no, no. God, no, Tristan." She came closer to him, putting her hands on his chest reassuringly, "No, never. I swear it has never, never been anything like that with us."

He shook his head, his voice broken, "But if you didn't want to-"

She didn't let him finish, "You've _never_ done anything I didn't want. I've never felt like I had to sleep with you. You haven't once forced yourself on me. Ever." There were a lot of things that she would let Tristan beat himself up over before she would come to his rescue, but this was not one of them. It was something that he'd never even considered until she'd brought it up to him months ago, that he might unknowingly forced himself on women; that they were too frightened to say no because he was the king. It was the first thing that she had ever seen crack him, the first thing she'd ever addressed that she saw made him hate himself. It was the one thing she knew of that bothered him more than anything and she would not let him think he was guilty of it when he wasn't. Especially with her.

She said it with such conviction that he relaxed slightly, leaning back, "Then why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you pull away?"

Rory laughed humorlessly, "Why? _Why?_ Because I should hate you." He watched her steadily as she elaborated, "I should hate you, Tristan. I shouldn't be able to stand the sight of you or your touch. I pull away and I hesitate and I get that look because I know, realistically, that I shouldn't be doing it and I have this guilt and this confusion and I am so torn because I look and you and I know everything that's happened but I can't see you as the person who did all that. I can't see you as someone who has hurt me so much. I know everything that's happened and I should hate you. And I did before, and I tried, so hard, to hold onto that hate, but I couldn't. After I came here I wanted to still but no matter what I did I couldn't. And then it was worse because far from hating you I wanted you. Wanting you is so much worse than hating you." she shook her head, "I pull away because I know that I should hate you, not _need_ you like I do."

She finished quietly, looking up at him, waiting for him to say something. But he didn't. He didn't reply and his face didn't change, but without warning she felt his hand tangle in the hair at the back of her head and his lips were on hers, fused to hers so deeply that she couldn't think. And he was pulling it out, all of it. All of her hate and her pain and her guilt and her confusion; he was taking hers and giving her his and fusing them together and mixing them and spreading them until she couldn't separate his hurt from hers or either of their guilt or hate; and she felt lighter, because even though she knew it wasn't alright, knew that nothing either of them did or said could ever make it right, they were freeing each other from blame.

It was the clearing of the truth and the lies and the hate and the guilt. She felt Tristan wrap his other arm around her and pull her close, the pressure of his lips not letting up on hers. She knew that it wasn't alright. But it didn't have to be.

She wasn't sure what this was called, the escape from guilt and lies and pain. She knew about religion and she'd heard all about God, she'd seen the ministers and the priests and knew all about the Christian religion and she'd always felt that many of them didn't even know what they were talking about; she sure as hell hadn't understood it. She wondered now, though, if this was really what they meant when they said _salvation_.


	15. Chapter 15

Rory laid in bed with her body stiff and her back flat on the mattress, watching the firelight dance over the stone ceiling above her head. The covers were pulled up to her chest, her arms crossed tightly over them, and Duke was laying on her feet snoring quietly. She clicked her teeth together, the silence around her broken only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth. The sky outside of her window was as close to black as it ever got and dotted with stars. She'd already watched the crescent moon rise from behind the trees and pass slowly up the length of the window until it disappeared to trail higher in the sky. That had been hours ago. She turned over onto her side, pulling one of the pillows violently against her chest. Duke whined at the movement and shifted before he settled back down, curled against the side of her leg on top of the covers. She stared at the hearth, watching the flames quiver behind the metal grate. It was uncomfortable laying in her own bed. She couldn't sleep. Her mattress was harder than Tristan's. Her room was stuffier. And she was alone.

Rory watched the fire for another moment before sighing loudly and throwing herself onto her back restlessly, dislodging Duke. He growled at her quietly and jumped off the bed thickly; she watched him walk stiffly over to the fireplace and turn in two slow circles before laying down heavily, asleep as soon as he hit the floor. She shifted again, unable to get comfortable.

She kept replaying the past two days over and over again in her mind; today, when Tristan had gone nearly the entire day without stepping foot in her presence, and the day before, when he'd found out who she was. She didn't think he knew how to act around her. When he'd found out, after yelling at her and making her tell him why his father had died, he'd kissed her. He'd kissed her like he never had before and after a minute he'd pulled away as if shocked and stepped back from her, shaking his head lightly as if he didn't know what he was doing, lost for words. Then he'd walked away, ignoring her as she called after him. She'd stared at the doorway, lost to time, until Anna had come in and made her sit down. That had been two days before. She hadn't spoken to Tristan since. The previous night, after her entire ordeal, she'd passed the hours tossing in this bed just like she was now, not falling into sleep until the early hours of the morning when everything was finally silent in her mind and in the world.

She'd woken after only a few hours of restless sleep and had donned one of her nicer dresses and a soft burgundy cloak for the short walk to the castle's chapel, which was where she'd spent most of the day staring at the massive cross hung on the front wall. After several hours the priest had gently asked her if she needed anything but she'd just shaken her head quietly, looking down at her lap. She didn't know why she'd gone there. She didn't pray. She didn't talk to God. She didn't repent; she didn't think you were even allowed to repent for things you didn't regret. She'd just sat there, staring. It wasn't like she'd even thought of anything. Her mind had been blank for the most part. Mainly she'd sat in wonder, unable to believe everything that had happened over the previous four months and wondering what was going to become of her now.

At one point the door to the chapel had opened and closed heavily. She'd recognized Tristan's footsteps immediately and kept her head down, but he hadn't recognized the back of her bowed head. He'd walked down the aisle of the sanctuary towards the priest at the front but as he'd approached her his steps had slowed suspiciously. She'd known instinctively when he was almost even with her and she'd stood slowly, turning to face him. He'd stopped at that, staring at her as if he couldn't believe she was there; as if she'd stolen his last place of comfort from him. Invaded everything. He'd stared at her for a moment, his face tight with hostility, and silence had hung between them, thick like wax.

The priest had stepped forward, "Your highness?"

Tristan had acted as if he hadn't heard him and had just stared at her, indignant. Rory had looked back steadily, seeing the lines of fatigue and exhaustion that drew his body and face. He was hiding it well, though his skin was pale from lack of sleep and bags lined under his eyes. He hadn't been there for more than a few heartbeats before looking at her had caused his face to twist into a deeper scowl and he'd turned on his heel, walking away from her. She'd opened her mouth, wanting to call after him, but words refused to come to her. Instead she watched him walk angrily from the chapel, closing the door heavily behind him. Then she sat back down quietly, avoiding the priest's gaze, and bowed her head again.

Anna came in and sat with her once, late in the afternoon, to tell her that Logan and Marty had both come looking for her. Rory just shook her head lightly, keeping her gaze down. After a moment Anna sighed and stood, brushed a kiss on the crown of Rory's head before walking quietly from the chapel.

She'd come back several hours after that, joining Logan and Max for dinner. They both wanted to know what was wrong with her and Tristan. She'd said nothing, just stared at her plate and ate mouse-sized bites.

Rory twisted in bed again, bringing her knees up to her chest and turning her head to bury her face in the pillow. She was exhausted. But she was never going to fall asleep. She wondered briefly how late it was; she'd been tossing back and forth for hours already. And that was when a quiet knock followed closely by the door creaking open interrupted her solitude. She pushed herself up, her hands on the bed behind her, and looked over to the door just as Tristan, obviously trying not to wake her, raised his gaze to the bed.

His face opened ever so slightly, surprised, "You're awake." He took a small step into the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

She nodded slowly, not pointing out that she was obviously not the only one awake at this ungodly hour. He didn't say anything for a moment, and she watched him in the doorway. He looked out of place here; he'd never come to her room before, "What's wrong?"

Tristan opened his mouth, uncertain. He sighed silently, watching her, "I can't sleep." he said finally, tiredly.

She knew the feeling. She would dare say, however, that she was wearing the exhaustion better than him. He looked ragged. She couldn't think of what to say, though, so she just tilted her head, looking up at him, "Why not?"

He clicked his teeth quietly, "You know, I've been laying awake asking myself that exact question for hours…" he trailed off, dropping his gaze to the floor thoughtfully.

"And…" she supplied for him, tilting her head forward. Her hair fell around her face in full sheets.

Tristan glanced up at her, his lip quirking humorlessly as if he couldn't believe he was about to say what came out of his mouth, "And, as far as I can tell, I can't sleep in my bed," he paused, shaking his head lightly, "because you're not there."

Rory looked up at him, shocked and oddly touched. She knew it had to have taken a lot for his pride to let him come to her now. "Do you want to sleep with me?" she asked quietly, uncertainly. As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Tristan scoffed in self-deprecation, looking away from her. The softness in his voice was almost gone, replaced with disbelief and frustration, "I have no idea what I want right now, Leigh. I don't even know why I came here."

She said nothing, just watched him gently. After a moment he looked back at her as if she could tell him why. Rory reached one hand over and peeled the covers back from one side of the bed, "Tristan," her voice was quiet and steady, "come to bed." He didn't move but looked at her, his face torn as if he still didn't know what he was doing there but wanted to do what she said. After a moment she touched the mattress next to her, inviting him over, "_Please_." she whispered.

And like always seemed to happen with them, she bent him until he broke. Her gentle implorations and quiet voice worked like a force of nature and he found himself coming to her slowly, unintentionally. He didn't lie next to her, though. He sat cautiously on the side of the bed so that they were facing each other, his legs over the side. She sat up straighter, realizing they wouldn't be going to sleep any time soon. Tristan licked his lips distractedly, looking over at her; when he spoke his voice was painfully gentle, "It's like I don't even know you."

"You do know me." She insisted quietly, wanting to shift closer to him but holding herself back.

"No, I don't. I didn't even know your name…" he trailed off, shaking his head lightly, "All the logic in my mind tells me not to trust you, but I don't know how to do that. I honestly have no I idea how to _not_ believe in you." He looked over at her, his voice still breaking her heart, "What am I supposed to do with that?"

Rory didn't have an answer for him. She just bit her lip, looking up at him.

He sighed defeatedly, "Leigh, I have no idea what I'm supposed to think or what I'm supposed to feel right now." he shook his head, whispering, "Tell me what to do."

She pulled her knees to her chest, pressing her lips together, "I don't know what you should do." She answered honestly, swallowing hard, "But you _can_ trust me." He looked at her, his expression unreadable. She looked back at him, not sure what else she should say. After a stretch of silence he sighed, his face softening. He brushed a lock of hair back from her face gently, trailing his thumb down her temple and slowly across her jaw. Rory closed her eyes, leaning her face into his hand. She turned her head, pressing her lips into his palm.

She felt him sigh quietly and tilt her head gently up so that her face was towards him. Her eyes opened reluctantly to look up at Tristan. He shook his head lightly, sliding his fingers across her skin, "You told me once that what I did to Christopher Hayden's family didn't make me a bad person." She looked at him steadily, saying nothing. "Did you mean that? Or were you just saying it because you thought it was what I wanted to hear?"

"I meant it." she said simply, raising her hand to cover the back of his on her cheek.

"How? Of all people, how can _you_ say that it doesn't make me a bad person?" she shook her head lightly, shrugging. Tristan slid his hand away from her, turning his face away, "How can you touch me after what I did to you, Leigh? How can you not hate me?"

She exhaled quietly, shaking her head again, at a loss, "I used to hate you, but I don't anymore because I know you. And I know you aren't the same anymore."

Tristan shook his head, looking away from her, "I don't understand." He glanced back at her, "I hate Christopher Hayden, Leigh. I will _always_ hate him for what he did. I know what you said was true, and I know that my father did terrible things, but I will still always hate him. And what I did to you, that was worse. How can you not hate me?"

She shook her head lightly, "Tristan, you didn't know my father. It's easy to hate someone you don't know. It's easy to hate someone who you've never seen laugh or smile or cry." She laid her hand over his on the bed, wanting him to look at her, "I used to hate you, I did, so much. But once I came here, once I knew you, I couldn't anymore. And once I stopped hating you…" she trailed off, shrugging. "I couldn't go from feeling so strongly about you to feeling nothing."

He stared at her, his expression unreadable, "But I took everything from you. Everyone." he whispered.

"I didn't know most of the people who died." Rory bit her lip, glancing down, "Tristan, when my family died, I was given another one that loved me just as much as I think my first ever did. Luke and Rachel and Jess, they love me as much as my parents and brother and sister did. As much as they could have. I didn't lose everyone, because even by the time my parents died, Luke and Rachel already loved me." She sighed, quietly, chewing on her bottom lip as her gaze stayed on the blanket, "I don't hate you, because I see how you feel. All you ever had was your father, but it was never like that for me. I had parents and brothers and sisters and grandparents who loved me. All the love I had spread out among them, for you, was concentrated in one person, in your father." She shrugged lightly, wringing the blanket between her fingers, "When my family died I was given another, but you weren't. After I realized that, I couldn't hate you anymore."

He watched her for a moment without saying anything, his face a mask of disbelief. After a stretch he dropped her gaze, his shoulders falling as he spoke quietly, "Maybe you don't hate me, but it still doesn't make sense to me."

Rory looked up at him, "What doesn't?"

His forehead scrunched, his face drawing to mask what he was feeling. His voice was so soft she almost didn't hear him, "How can you stand to touch me?" she said nothing at first and after a moment of silence Tristan went on, still refusing to look at her, "I know that before you said you pull away because you should hate me and you don't, but does it not bother you at all to be near me? How can it not?"

She didn't respond at first, not sure of how to answer him. She didn't want to hurt him but she didn't want to lie to him again. Ever. Rory chewed on her bottom lip, touching his neck gently so that he looked at her. She spoke gently, earnestly, "It does bother me. I've felt more guilt in the past month than I ever thought to in all my life." She shook her head lightly, moving closer to him reassuringly as she saw his eyes become metallic, empty, "But Tristan, the guilt I feel at wanting you is _nothing_ next to the desolation I feel at the thought of not being with you." He glanced up at her, his expression guarded. She leaned her head towards him, "And I would take the guilt any day, Tristan, to be with you." He continued to look at her through slightly narrowed eyes, taking in what she was saying. She pressed her lips together, dropping her hand from his neck. She looked down, speaking quietly, "The guilt won't keep me apart from you, so if you can look past the fact that I lied about who I was-" she didn't get to finish. Tristan's lips were suddenly on hers, cutting her off mid-sentence.

Rory inhaled deeply, partly from surprise and partly from delight as her arms came on their own to wrap around him, pulling him close. He pressed forward so that she leaned back slightly to fuse their lips at an easier angle, one of his arms going to wrap around her waist and the other hand pressing against the mattress next to her. He kissed her deeply, his lips moving fully against hers like he needed her to breathe. It was a slow, burning kiss though, like he would never stop; not frantic or hard like he would die without it. The arm that was wrapped around her slid to the side, his hand trailing slowly across her back until it came to rest on her side. He squeezed her hip gently, slowly breaking his lips from hers. He kept his lips nearly touching hers, though, barely a breath apart. Rory stayed with her arms around his neck, breathing shakily. Her eyes fluttered open after a moment to see that he was looking at her, his eyes huge and fathomless.

He opened his mouth as if he would speak but it took a moment. His breathing was affected as well, "Can I?" Rory blinked slowly, her mind working sluggishly. It took her a heartbeat to realize where he held her. She looked down, taking in his hand that clutched her hip over the crest. Her immediate reaction was to say no. But she didn't. She didn't say anything. Tristan spoke after a stretch of silence, "If you don't want me to…"

She looked up at him, shaking her head lightly, "No, it isn't that…." She trailed off, still not giving him permission.

"I won't hurt you." He assured her, "I was…surprised before, and mad at myself more than anything. I wouldn't hurt you."

"I know." She whispered, still uncertain.

Tristan shook his head, at a loss, "Then what is it?"

"I…" she looked up at him, trailing off, "I don't want you to hate me."

His head cocked back, surprised, "Hate you?"

She bit the insides of her cheeks, looking up at him, "Doesn't it make you hate me?" his eyes narrowed in question and Rory blinked slowly, her voice quiet, "My crest."

"No." he said simply, honestly.

"No?"

He shook his head. "No. At first, I wished that it wasn't true. For a lot of reasons, really. But never because I hated you. Never because it changed how I felt about _you_." She said nothing, just looked up at him. Tristan sighed after a moment, pulling his hand away from her, "I won't, if you don't want me to. Forget I asked, I didn't mean to upset you."

Rory sat up straighter now that Tristan was no longer supporting her at all, "It's not your fault, I'm just…it surprised me. I've only showed it once, four years ago, to two of my friends back in Stars Hollow. They raised me never to let it show and I guess added to how hard I've tried to keep it hidden the past few months I just…" she trailed off again, shrugging. "I do, though."

Tristan ran a hand through his hair, "You do what?"

She didn't say anything, just bit her lip nervously and leaned forward to kiss him gently before pushing the covers completely off of her. She inhaled slowly, pushing her hair back behind her, and leaned completely back onto her elbows, her body nearly flat before him, "Go ahead." She whispered.

Tristan looked down the length of her body, his gaze lingering on the hem of her skirt, before he came back to her face, "Leigh…" He said quietly, questioningly.

"I want you to." She replied, shifting her hips minutely.

He looked down at her, unconvinced, for another moment before he wrapped one hand lightly around her right knee. His other hand cupped against the inside of her leg, just above the bend of her knee, and slid gently up her thigh, taking the skirt of her nightgown with it. She watched as his hand crept higher and higher, the right ride of her skirt giving way to bare skin. Rory bit her lip as his fingers came to the top of her thigh, brushing the junction of her leg and pelvis, before his hand slid out to smooth over her hip, pushing the skirt completely out of the way. Her gaze snapped from his hand to his face, wanting to see his reaction. But he didn't have one.

Tristan's expression didn't change. He kept the same look of reverence, his eyes moving slightly as he took in the crest burned into her hip. An intricate pattern of spirals and swirls encasing an _H_ the size of a walnut. She kept watching him, waiting for something, but he just looked down at it, tracing his fingers gently over the rough, raised skin. Different families marked their members in different ways. Burning was an older custom. The Haydens has still used it, but most families didn't anymore, including Tristan's. Tristan's family marking was a tattoo at the top of his back in between his shoulder blades, an inch or two below his neck. It was twice the size of hers, a sharp _D_ placed before a sword and cross, a variation of his family crest.

They sat in silence, the king staring at her hip and her eyes trained on him. He moved his hand from her knee after a moment and put it on the bed next to her, supporting his weight as he leaned down to see it better by the firelight. She watched him, her breath held in. After another short stretch he shook his head minutely and gently smoothed out the skirt that had bunched just above her hipbone, bringing it back down to her knees to cover her legs. He came back and slid up her body, trailing kisses up her ribcage over her nightgown. His lips touched along the bare skin of her chest above her neckline and made a path up her neck and jawline before finally connecting to hers. He kissed her deeply, pushing her back into the mattress. One of her arms came back to wrap around his neck, the other sliding into his hair as her mouth responded to his.

Tristan's hand moved from the bed to slide under her skirt, pressing against the back of her leg and bringing it to wrap around his hips, his lower body pressing against hers. Rory muttered his name contentedly, her chest warm for the first time in four days. His lips broke from hers to trail across her jaw. He ran his teeth along the shell of her ear, his voice hoarse, "I'm sorry." She looked up at him questioningly but said nothing, tightening her leg around him. "I'm sorry for the way I reacted. When I realized who you were it was like…like nothing I'd ever believed was true. Like there was nothing real left in the world." He shook his head lightly, his forehead touching hers as he dropped his head down, "I have never been so dismantled in all my life, and I was horrible to you. I'm sorry."

Rory touched his face lightly, bringing his eyes back to hers, "Don't be." She whispered, "I should have told you. I was going to, but lost my nerve. You don't have to apologize." She felt him sigh as a weight passed from him and his body sank into hers, his weight pressing her into the mattress. His forehead rested on her shoulder. Rory turned her face, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear, "Will you sleep here?" she whispered. Tristan raised his head fractionally, turning it to look at her. She bit her lip, confessing quietly, "I haven't slept in two nights…I can't sleep without you either."

Tristan laughed lightly, pushing himself off of her. He grabbed the blankets from the bottom of the bed, pulling them over both of them and settling down next to her. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her tightly against him. She laid her head on his chest, burrowing into his side. Her hand snaked under his shirt for her finger tips to trail sleepily along his washboard abdomen, his skin warm to the touch. She slid her leg up to wrap across his hips, pulling herself closer to him, and closed her eyes, relaxing against him. He was staring up at the ceiling, his fingers tracing over her arm when he spoke, "Have you always gone by your second name?"

She shook her head against his chest, opening her eyes slowly, "No, I started using it when I came to Stars Hollow."

"You were called Lorelai before?" he asked.

"No." she pushed herself up on her elbow to look at him while she spoke, "My mother went by Lorelai, so to avoid confusion everyone called me Rory. My family and Lane and her fiancée still do."

He looked up at her, "Rory?" he asked, trying it out. She nodded. "It suits you," he said quietly, "then what do you go by? Leigh or Rory?"

"Rory."

He nodded once, curling a lock of her hair around his finger absentmindedly, "_Rory_…" he spoke slowly, thoughtfully. She smiled, laying down against him again. He wrapped his arm back around her, "Where did it come from?"

She shrugged, wrapping her leg back around him, "It's short for Lorelai."

He said nothing for a moment, waiting for her to make a joke. When she didn't he spoke, "…how?"

"I don't really know." She slipped her hand back under his shirt, sinking into his side, "I don't think anyone did."

Rory felt him nod, "My mother is the same way."

She looked up at him, "Cecilia?"

"No, that's her given name. But have you ever heard Stephanie talk to her? She calls her Catherine. Logan does sometimes too."

Rory thought back to when Tristan's friends had been there and she did remember, "I'd forgotten. Why does she?"

"When she was younger she couldn't say or remember Cecilia, but there was a girl who worked in her house named Cathy." He shrugged, "So that was what she called my mother and as she got older she started calling her Catherine, I guess out of habit."

"I'm surprised your mother put up with it."

"There wasn't much she could do about it."

"Oh. I guess not…" She trailed off in a yawn, sliding her fingers languidly across his chest. Now that he was laying with her she couldn't keep her eyes open. The days of sleeplessness were catching up to her. She felt him shift down, relaxing into the mattress. It moved his chest down so that she could no longer use it as a pillow. She sighed contentedly anyway, her head on the pillow next to his.

"Le…Rory." He caught himself.

"Hmm?" she mumbled, her eyes closed.

"Goodnight."

"Goodmorning." she muttered back, and she drifted off as his chest shook with gentle laughter against her, the sky lightening in the east.

-*-

Tristan woke slowly, light slanting into the room through the large window on the wall next to the bed. The light had moved from the floor to shine directly on his face, heating his skin and burning into his closed eyes until he was forced into consciousness. He felt a familiar warm weight on his arm and chest and knew without looking that it was Leigh sleeping against him…or, rather, Rory. The name still sounded strange. He wasn't sure that he would ever get used to calling her that. He heard her sigh and move gently, her breath dancing across his chest. He could feel her cheek against his chest through his shirt; her hand was still snaked underneath it, resting warmly on his abdomen.

The sunlight continued to beat against his eyelids and finally he opened them, squinting into the room. The light was hot and harsh against him, not a morning sun. Tristan glanced out the window, wondering how late it was, and saw that the sun was almost to the tree line. It was late afternoon. He swore and sat up, throwing the covers off of him. Rory protested quietly next to him as she slid to the pillows, her eyes not even opening as she rolled over and curled into the sheets. He pulled the blankets back up to cover her before jumping from the bed. His movements seemed to energize Rory's dog, Duke, who laid in front of the fire. He stumbled to his feet clumsily and ran after Tristan as he jogged to the door. He twisted the handle and threw it open. Duke darted through the open doorway, hitting Tristan's legs heavily. The dog sprinted down the hallway and disappeared as Tristan left the room, only getting a step out before jumping back in surprise.

Anna sat in a chair in front of the door, knitting quietly. She looked up as he exited. "How late is it?" he asked hurriedly, "Why didn't anyone wake me?"

The old maid shook her head slowly, "Go back to sleep, Tristan. The kingdom can survive a day without you. You need your rest."

He narrowed his eyes, "Anna."

She didn't waver, "You've barely slept in a week, Tristan. You need to. Now turn around and go back to bed."

He ignored her, "Where is Max?"

"Doing his job. Now go back to sleep. You're useless when you're exhausted and unable to function. Go rest some more, you can get back to ruling in the morning."

Tristan didn't reply but leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest, "Have you been sitting there all day?"

She shrugged nonchalantly, going back to her knitting, "You've ordered me to look over Rory. When she's asleep there's nothing else for me to do." She glanced up at him, "Now. I'm done answering questions. Go rest. You both need it."

He watched her for another moment but knew better than to keep arguing with her, so he turned and went back into the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Rory was still curled in the blankets but her eyes were open, her gaze on the wall but unfocused. She looked over at him as he approached.

"Hey." He said quietly, coming back to the bed.

Rory smiled gently, still not completely awake, "Hi." She pushed herself up into a sitting position and reached out to take his hand, pulling him onto the mattress. He allowed it, falling to sit next to her heavily. He might have wanted to say something but wasn't given the chance as her lips instantly came to his, fusing them together as her arms came around his neck. She did this, in the early morning before her common sense and inhibitions set in. She would grab him and pull him into bed, her lips insatiable. It wasn't that she wouldn't do it with a clear head, but when she was awake and alert she tended to make him work for it. When still drowsy, her libido kicked in and took him for a ride that left him tripping to catch up.

That thought was far from his mind, though, as his body reacted to touching her for the first time in nearly a week. She kept her arms wound around his neck as she slid seamlessly into his lap, straddling him without lightening the pressure of her mouth against his, kissing him deep and slow. He felt himself hardening already, unable to stop himself from responding to her. It felt as if he hadn't touched her in a year. Her arms slipped from around his neck and her hands came down to the hem of his shirt, finding their way under the cloth to press against his skin. He brought his hands up to cup her face and tangle in her hair, pulling it lightly so that her head tilted and his lips fused to hers at a better angle. He felt her shiver above him. She bunched the hem of his shirt in her hands and slid it up his body, her fingernails scraping against his aides the entire way. He felt his body jerk in response, his hands tightening on her reflexively. She grinned against his mouth. He lifted his arms above his head, grabbing the back of his shirt to help her pull it off. Their mouths broke only long enough for the material to slide from his body. As soon as it was gone her hair was once again tangled in his fingers and he captured her lips in his, taking control from her. Her fingers slid down his shoulders to his chest, where they stopped.

She kissed him hard, deepening the kiss for a moment before she broke away suddenly, her hand on his chest pushing him back minutely. His eyes flew open, surprised, to see what she was doing. He looked at her from mere inches away, their faces close enough that he could still feel her breath. Her eyes were closed and her face was angled down, her breathing deep as she attempted to get it under control. She licked her lips before pressing them together. She wanted to say something. He waited.

"Tristan," She said quietly after a moment. Her eyes opened as she went on but she didn't raise her gaze to his, "the days that we weren't….speaking, did you sleep with anyone else?"

He stared down at her, his eyebrows drawn together. He said nothing. After a stretch of silence she slid her eyes up to his, her worry shining through. Tristan tilted his head down and brought hers up, bringing their faces closer together, "Lei-" he caught himself, "Rory, since the night you walked into this castle, I haven't touched anyone but you."

Her forehead scrunched, "What?"

He shook his head lightly, "I haven't been with anyone else at all since I met you."

She raised her head to look him straight on curiously, "You haven't slept with anyone else?"

Tristan's head cocked back as if surprised by her disbelief, "No. I haven't touched anyone else at all. In any way."

She spoke slowly, still uncomprehending, "But you've kissed other people? Done _something_?"

"Rory, I haven't even looked at anyone else, let alone kissed them."

Her mouth opened slightly, shocked, "What?" she shook her head, "But you didn't even kiss me until more than two months after I came here."

He scoffed nodding as he slipped his hands from her hair to slide down to her hips, "I know."

She stared up at him, still trying to wrap her brain around what he'd said. She didn't think that he'd been sleeping with anyone else in the past month, except for the past few days when she'd barely seen him. But she'd never imagined that he wasn't sleeping with other women while he was trying to get her. Never dreamed that when she first came to the castle and met him he wasn't sleeping with a harem full of women. Rory closed her eyes tightly, shaking her head as if trying to figure it out, "But I was here for three months before we first slept together."

"I know." He repeated, his expression patient.

"You went three months without sex."

"I know."

She stared at him, her face drawn in confusion, "_Why_?"

He sighed heavily, leaning back against the headboard. He stared at the ceiling. "Have I ever told you that the first time I saw you, I felt like I knew you?"

"No." she said quietly, shifting on his lap.

"I did." He didn't break his gaze from the roof above them, "And you remember, the first few weeks you were here? When I came out to the training grounds we would always wind up talking?"

"Yes." She slid off of his lap, sitting next to him on the bed.

"I couldn't get you out of my mind." He shook his head lightly, his gaze unfocused, "Every time another woman came close to me, I couldn't make myself stop thinking of you. I mean, I wanted to sleep with you, of course, but that wasn't why I couldn't escape you. It was…I don't even know, I've never been surprised by a woman the way I was surprised by you. I didn't know whether I wanted to bed you or get to know you better." He fell silent as if considering how to go on, "I wanted to know you. I wanted to see what made you the way you were, so different from everyone else. But I thought that if anything did happen, I would lose any chance of knowing you better. I knew that it would never go any farther than just sex if it happened so soon." He shook his head, "It wasn't that I wanted to be with you or that I cared for you yet, it was just that I was curious about you. I wanted to understand you. Like anything that's confounding, I wanted to get it.

"I didn't know what I wanted to do about you yet, but I sure as hell wasn't expecting what happened because of it…" he trailed off, inhaling deeply as if he still didn't like dwelling on it, "Every time another woman came close to me, all I saw was you. And it wasn't even sexual, it was actually completely innocent; just your face or your smile or your laugh. I don't know why, I just…did. And the thought of touching someone else while the image of you still burned behind my eyes…I couldn't do it. They would come to me and as soon as I saw them I would tell them to leave. My body didn't even respond. It wasn't that I was pining for you or that I thought of nothing but conquering you, it was nothing like that at all. My want for your body was always almost rivaled by the fact that I wanted to see into your mind. That was why I never tried anything in the beginning, because I couldn't stand the thought of risking that.

"The night Logan had you brought to my room, I didn't know he was going to do it. I'd said something to him the first night I saw you but I never brought up wanting your body to him again. From the first time I spoke to you, I never again even considered speaking of you that way to anyone." He cracked his jaw, exhaling quietly, "That night, though, I would have given it up. It was the first time in two weeks that I'd had a reaction to a woman's presence. I saw your face when anyone else came close to me but when you were there it was almost more than I could take. I was so overwhelmed, like I was always drawn to you." He fell silent and broke his gaze from the ceiling to look at the cover on the bed. He sat up straighter, his forehead scrunching, "But that night you suggested that I-" he broke off. _Forced himself on women_, albeit unwittingly. He couldn't even bring himself to say it.

She reached out to touch his arm, wishing, not for the first time, that she could take back the hurtful things she'd said to him those months ago. "_Tristan_." She whispered, shaking her head lightly.

He kept his gaze on the cover, "No. No, I didn't bring it up to make you feel bad or apologize. That was another reason I never touched anyone else after you came here, though. Leigh, when you said that," he shook his head, not catching his slip of her name, "I don't even know, it messed with my mind. I would rather never touch anyone again than force a woman into something she doesn't want, whether it's purposely or not. After that night there were a lot of reasons I couldn't touch anyone else and there were also a lot of reasons that part of me hated you. Because added to the fact that your mere presence in my life made it impossible for my body to want anyone else, the things that you said made it impossible for my mind to even consider or wish for it.

"The thought that I would be forcing someone into something did a lot to stop me from touching anyone, but more than that it was the fact that I still wanted you. After that night I knew that I still wanted to know you, but I also wanted your body. I wanted everything, I wanted all of you in a way that I've never wanted anyone in my life. I would have thought that the blatant rejection would temper my condition of only being able to want you, but if anything it made it worse. And not only that, but after that night I thought you hated me. You'd been here for weeks and I still couldn't want anyone else. That had never happened to me before and I was starting to worry that I would never escape my need for you. Before that night I'd thought that eventually I would either have you or outgrow the desire to bed only you, but if you hated me then I knew I would never have you. And after seeing you that night I knew I'd never outgrow my want for you. I know it must have been irrational, but I was afraid that I'd spend my life craving you and you would spend yours hating me. When I told you that I was taking you off the guard, it was true that part of the reason was because I wasn't willing to put a woman in danger, but mainly it was because I couldn't be around you and want you so badly when you despised me.

"I'd planned, originally, to send you home when I told you that you wouldn't fight. But once I saw you I couldn't do it. I couldn't stand the thought of sending you away. I was still unkind to you after that, like I told you before because it was unhealthy for me to want you, but also because I wanted you so much it hurt, and I thought after you yelled at me about how I force myself on women you would want nothing of me. And even if you did, I knew that eventually I would wind up taking you. I didn't want to lose the chance to know you, but I didn't know that I'd be able to keep myself from touching you and ruining everything.

"But then as it came closer to your birthday I started really looking at you while you watched me and I realized that you didn't hate me. That was when we got better, but I still wanted to keep my distance. I never trusted myself with you." He looked at her thoughtfully, shaking his head lightly, "I think it was in my study, when I showed you the marriage proposal from Rivenlear and we started talking about love and marriage, that I stopped wishing I could want other women. That was when I gave up trying to fight this need for you and just accepted it. Before that I hadn't touched other women because they had nothing for me; I wanted all of you and nothing of anyone else because I was consumed by you, I had to have you because you had some physical pull over me and I was blinded. It was dark, and it was unhealthy and miserable.

"But after that, I didn't touch them because you overshadowed them all. It wasn't because I saw you every time I looked at them anymore. It was because I saw you everywhere I looked. I didn't have to _have_ you anymore, I just needed to be part of you, the way you were already part of me. And I didn't want all of you because I was consumed by you. I wanted all of you because anything less wasn't enough. It wasn't any less driving, but it was so much lighter than before. I didn't have this black, burning, consuming desire for you. You became the only one I wanted because after seeing the possibilities that lied with you, touching anyone else would feel like a cheap imitation. I wasn't consumed by you anymore. I felt completed…" he broke off as if surprised at himself. Rory watched him, too shocked to speak. They sat in a thick silence for a stretch. Finally Tristan cleared his throat, looking away from her, "So there you go, that's why I haven't touched anyone else since you came here. By now the thought makes me sick." Still she didn't respond but just stared at him from less than a foot away, her face wiped of anything to point him in the direction of her thoughts. Tristan waited for another span of silence before he snapped his gaze back to her, "Say something, Rory."

She blinked, her face still slack. After a moment she shook her head lightly, her voice small, "I didn't know."

Tristan's eyebrows arched wryly and his head titled forward slightly, as if he hadn't quite heard her. "Really? I basically bear my soul to you, and all you can say is that you didn't know?" he made a sound of disbelief from the back of his throat and stood.

He turned to walk to the door but Rory suddenly came to life, grabbing his arm roughly, "Tristan wait."

He shook his head lightly, refusing to turn back to her like he knew she wanted. His jaw tightened in disbelief, his voice was saturated with self deprecation as he spoke, "No. You know, Rory, it's like you want to know everything that's going on in my head. You want to know every single little thing I think about you. You push and you prod and you coax me and again and again I wind up staring at the ground like an idiot, telling you how much you've changed me and how much you mean to me and how much I _need_ you. And you push me to it and you push me to it and when I finally tell you, you just sit there playing dumb like it was the last thing you ever expected to hear and I feel like even more of an idiot because common sense tells me that means that you don't feel anything near the same. This happens _every_ time. You push me until I break and I lay my whole pitiful, twisted sad little thoughts and feelings out on the table for you and you do nothing. You give me nothing. You have to know what's going on with me, but God forbid you ever once even show me a shred of what's going on with you. God forbid you ever admit the _tiniest_ bit of need for me. You did admit once that you wanted me, but only because I'd found out you were a Hayden and you were afraid."

She shook her head, climbing out of the bed to stand in front of him, "Tristan-"

"No." he shook his head, cutting her off, "Don't try to deny it. You give _nothing_. You give me your body. Don't pretend that all this time you've been giving me more than that."

Her eyes widened, "I have!"

His eyes narrowed as he took a step back from her, "No you haven't! You can't give someone more than your body when you lie to them every time they look at you, Rory! And all this time I thought that it was enough, that my actions were enough to let you know what I feel and what I think about you, but it isn't enough for you. You have to hear it. You have to be praised. You have to know that I would do anything, fucking _anything_ for you. You have to hear how much I want you. You have to know that you have some control over me but you never admit what you feel for me. You spend all this time trying to get me to share my feelings and tell you what you mean to me but you never say _anything_."

Rory stared up at him, her hurt and anger warring for dominance. The former won out, "That's not true."

Tristan scoffed, rolling his eyes, "It is, Rory. You always want me to reassure you, to tell you over and over that you're different from the others. And you are. Fuck my life, but you are. And no matter how many times I tell you, you have to hear it again. Forget the fact that you sleep in my bed, forget that I had the woman who _raised me_ and who I love more than almost anyone I've ever known take care of you from the time you got here, forget the fact that I waited as long as you wanted before we had sex, forget that every single person you've spoken to has told you how different I am with you; you have to hear it over and over."

She shook her head, her anger building, "I never asked you for all that, Tristan. You made those decisions. I never asked you for any of it!"

He scoffed, "Oh please, Rory, save it. I'm not complaining about the things I did. I'm telling you that it's never enough for you. You have to be told."

She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring up at him as she snapped, "Is it really that unbelievable that I want to be reassured, Tristan? You don't exactly have the best history when it comes to women and I can't imagine that you've never said things to them you don't mean."

"_Don't_." he growled, turning on her. His eyes snapped black fire, "Do _not_, after everything, even insinuate that I would ever treat you like I treated them. Don't presume to tell me what I've said to other women. How many times have I told you that sex didn't mean anything before you? How many times have you asked me how I could not feel anything for them? Are you really going to stand there, after everything that's happened, and accuse me of telling women before you that they mattered to me? Don't insult me."

"Don't patronize _me_!" she yelled back, her anger not quite matching his but respectable nonetheless, "You don't get a sex history riddled with _hundreds_ of women without telling a few lies."

"Lies?" he said loudly, his eyes widening, "Lies? Since when am I a liar, Rory?! When have I ever given you any reason to believe that I've lied to you?" he scoffed in disbelief, twisting away from her, "Hell, forget me lying, who are you to say _anything_ about _anyone_ lying?"

"Stop using that against me!" she yelled, shoving his chest without thinking. It did nothing. He didn't even budge. "I had to lie about that, I didn't have a choice!"

"No." he sneered, leaning towards her, "You didn't, not at first, maybe. But a month ago if you had told me who you were do you honestly think I would have hurt you? Hell, if you'd told me a week ago, do you really think I would have let anything happen to you?"

She shook her head, her eyes narrowed, "I don't know Tristan, it's hard to know what to think when you're sleeping with someone who has a history so long that if you listed them all it would stretch from here to the northern border. How am I supposed to know what to believe from you?"

"_When did I become a fucking liar in your book?_" he exploded, yelling at her like he never had before. She gasped, jumping back, wide eyed. "Where is all this coming from? I tell you that I'm tired of feeling like an idiot for always telling you what I feel when you won't give me shit and suddenly _I'm_ a liar? The girls before you don't bother you, Rory. If they did then you would have brought them up by now, but you haven't. The only reason you're bringing them up is because you want something to attack me with so you don't have to accept the fact that you're in the wrong."

She shook her head so hard that her hair whipped back and forth as she yelled, "You've never even asked me to tell you how I feel, Tristan!"

"Oh, so what, because I'm more subtle than a boulder over your head you think I don't want to know?!" he yelled back.

She shrugged, throwing her arms out, "How the hell am I supposed to know what you want if you don't say it?!"

"Fine!" he snapped, stepping closer to her, "This is me telling you what I want. I want you to say how you really feel. I want to hear that you want me so much you physically hurt on nights that I'm not next to you in bed. I want you to admit that you need me as much as I need you and I want you to tell the fucking truth for _once_ about me and you!" he finished loudly and was met with silence.

Rory stared up at him, biting her lip, "You want the truth?" she whispered, feeling small tears of relief and fear and doom all pushing at the back of her eyes. She refused to let them fall as she went on, her voice quiet, "You want to know how much you mean to me? You want me to tell you that the only time in all my life of running and hiding that I've ever felt really safe was laying in your arms? You want me to tell you that the one person I should have been terrified of was the only one who ever made me feel like I could stop being scared? You want me to tell you that the only place in all my life that I've ever felt like I _belonged_ was with you? That for the past month I've been terrified of you finding my crest, not because I ever thought you would kill me but because I thought you would hate me for it and I would rather die than see you hate me?" she swallowed hard, staring up at him steadily, "You want me to tell you that when you walked away after you found out who I was and didn't speak to me or acknowledge me I literally felt something inside of me die? I'll tell you how I feel Tristan.

"I want you." She said simply, directly, "I want you and I have wanted you since the day I first spoke to you. I didn't want to admit it even to myself because I was afraid. I was afraid that if I didn't hate you then I would be turning my back on my family. But eventually I just didn't care anymore. I want you." She repeated, her voice slowly getting louder as the tears dried from the backs of her eyes, never having fallen, "I want _you_, not just your body and not just your mind. I want both. And I don't care that you're the king, that doesn't do anything to increase how I feel about you or how much I want you. I want you all to myself. I don't want the wenching maids or castle servants anywhere near you. I don't want them to even look at you. I don't care what you did before or who you slept with, your past doesn't matter to me but now I want you, _all_ of you, just for me. I don't want any of the rest of them to have any part of you. You say you don't need to possess me anymore; you just want to be a part of me? Well I want to possess you. I want you to be mine. Undisputedly and permanently mine. I have never wanted anyone or anything so much in all my life.

"I want you with me, every night. I don't care if it's in your bed or my bed or in the woods or in a barn, I want you all the time. I want to hear you tell me that I'm different all the time because I want to have you without a doubt. You think men are possessive, Tristan? You think you were angry about Marty and Callum? You have no idea. I want to hear that I'm different because I want to know that you aren't going to walk away when a pretty maid comes to the castle or Kira walks into your study wearing nothing but a ribbon in her hair. Because if that ever happened, if you ever cast me aside, if you ever touched Kira again, I would never recover. And, in all honesty, neither would she after I was finished with her.

"I want you, Tristan. I never want to be touched by anyone else, ever. And I _need_ you. I feel like I need you to breathe. I have never needed anyone in my life, Tristan. I've lost more than most girls my age have nightmares about. Nothing scares me. Even as a child, after I came to Stars Hollow, nothing truly scared me. I worried, about being found out. When I came here I worried that someone would find my crest and figure out who I was. I was afraid because I thought you would hate me if you knew. That scares me unlike anything else ever has. The thought of losing you makes me break out into a cold sweat and wake up screaming. Because I need you. You said that no one has ever made you want only them? Well you're the only one I've ever wanted." She shook her head, staring up at him steadily, "I knew I was lonely before, but I never knew I was empty. Not until I met you and I wasn't anymore. I've seen you beat yourself up, Tristan, I know you think that you're corrupting me and damaging me, but you're not. You're the only one who has ever made me whole. Adoptive parents and an amazing cousin and two best friends couldn't do that in ten years and you did it in a few months.

"I need _you_ to make me not empty anymore, Tristan." She sighed heavily, her shoulders falling. She looked up at him through clear irises, her breathing coming out ragged, "You're the only one." She whispered. He stared at her, his chest rising and falling heavily. He said nothing. She went on, "Just because I never said how I felt doesn't mean that you have any less hold over me than I do over you. Do you want to know why I want you to belong to me? Why I want to own you? Because you own me. Whether you realize it or not, I am yours. Completely. You may not feel the need to _have_ me anymore, but you do. You can break me if you want, Tristan. Like a twig. You can destroy me, and I would let you. No one has ever had that kind of power over me. But you do. And I don't care. I welcome it, I do. But it has to go both ways. That's why I have to own you. I want you to be mine because that's the only way that it's fair. I'm already yours, so I want you to be mine." Tristan stared at her, his eyes wide. He said nothing. Rory pressed her lips together, feeling the tears pushing at her eyes again. This time she didn't fight them. Instead she kept going, even after reason told her to shut her mouth, "Do you want to know why? Do you want me to tell you why I never said any of it before?" he didn't answer, but kept staring, slowly taking it in. She bit her lip, going on, "I was afraid. I was and still am so terrified because I know that one day you're going to wake up and wonder why I'm still here. You're going to move on and I don't think I can. If I say these things, if I make them real, then I can never walk away. I am so terrified that soon you're going to look over at me and wonder what in the world you were thinking-"

"_Leigh_." Tristan interrupted her, his voice soft as he raised a hand to cup her face gently. His expression wasn't the smug look she'd been expecting. He looked shocked. She wondered if he was feeling the same awe she did every time he confessed how he felt about her.

She went on, looking at him through tears, "And do you want to know the worst? What terrifies me the most? The real reason I wouldn't say it before? It scares me senseless because I know it's true. Everything else _could_ happen, but this one is unavoidable and when it happens I _will die_-"

He shook his head, cutting her off again, "Don't talk like that." He said quietly, bringing his other hand up to brush her hair back from her face. He'd wanted to know how she felt, but he'd had no idea…

Rory finished quietly, "What terrifies me the most, is when I'm going to have to sit back and watch while you find a suitable wife." Tristan visibly cringed. She clenched her teeth against her tears, going on, "I'm going to have to see you pick someone to marry, court her, wed her, take her to your bed, have chil-"

"_Stop_." He cringed again as if her words caused him physical pain; his finger slid over her lips, silencing her. "Stop."

She looked up at him helplessly, her lip trembling, "But it's _true_!"

He shook his head gently, his voice quiet and reassuring, "No. Rory have you ever listened to anything I've ever told you?"

She shook her head, not really hearing him, "What are you talking about?"

Tristan brushed her hair back from her face, looking down at her as if pained, his voice quietly breaking, "How many nights have we fallen asleep talking about the future? How many times have I told you that I love you?"

She froze, her eyes wide with shock, "What?" she breathed.

Tristan pulled her closer, sliding his fingers through her hair comfortingly, "You thought I was delirious, that I didn't know what I was talking about, but I remember everything I ever said those nights. And I meant every word."

She stared up at him, her breath hitching. "_No_." she breathed so quietly he almost didn't hear it, shaking her head, "_No. no. no_." She could feel it. Her chest was caving in at the same time that her eyes were swelling. She could feel the tears pushing at the back of her eyes. She remembered. She remembered everything. All the nights she'd listened to him whisper into her ear as he drifted to sleep, his voice quiet and pained, whispering to her that she made him feel what no one else had ever come close to touching; that he loved her, wanted to marry her. She could swear she felt a gaping cave in her chest where her heart had just crumbled. Rory looked at Tristan, her throat closing as tears filled her eyes and brimmed over to slide down her cheeks. She let out a shuddering sob and turned away from him, raising a hand to her mouth in an attempt to curb the hysteria she could feel building.

"Rory." Tristan came to her, lost, and touched her shoulder, gently turning her to face him. She kept her head down, refusing to look at him as the sobs continued to make her shake. He shook his head, shushing her as he gathered her in his arms and pulled her to the bed, "Rory please, talk to me." She shook her head, unable to speak through her tears. "Hey." He pulled her into his lap and she buried her face in his still bare shoulder, her fingers raking across his skin as she tried to hold onto him. He held her, lost as to what to do. He didn't even know why she was crying. "Shhh." He whispered against her skin, kissing a trail slowly down her neck and shoulder. He traced a line of warm, comforting kisses back up her neck to her lips, where he laid soft, lingering kisses over her mouth, gradually bringing her down from her cries.

She allowed him to kiss her, her body still shaking and her breath coming out in gasps. As she calmed down she started to kiss him back, and at the sign of her recovery he pulled back minutely to look at her, his lips a breath away. He brushed her hair back from her face, "_Rory_-" he started to whisper, but she cut him off, her lips connecting gently to his again. She kept the kiss short and soft, like the other ones, and though she could tell he wanted to protest, she knew him well enough to be certain that he wouldn't. "Rory-" another kiss made him fall silent. Again she pulled back, but only for a moment before her lips met his again. When she pulled back he opened his eyes to look at her. She saw him surrender. He knew her, and he knew when she was tired or upset she was obstinate and he was nowhere near strong enough to deny her. She leaned down and kissed him again slowly, this time not pulling back. She felt his body relax as he gave up the fight. His hand came up to tangle in her hair as he pushed her forward, leaning over her until her back hit the bed. He kissed her deeply, his lips already whisking away her pain and hurt while his hands traveled down her body to push up her skirt.

Rory broke her lips from his, her head falling back as she arched up so that Tristan's hand could slide around her back to loose the knot that held her corseted nightgown in place. It took only a moment and then her back was once again against the bed, the nightgown pooling loosely around her body. The skirt of her nightgown was pushed up to her hips and Tristan's hand was sliding up the back of her thigh, bringing her leg up to wrap around his waist, skin on skin. Rory gasped shakily, her arms coming to wrap around his shoulders as if to support herself as she felt him pressed against her through a few layers of cotton, hard and ready. One of her hands released his shoulder to come up to tangle in his hair. Her lips made their way to his ear to speak into it, "Do you want me to tell you how much I want you?" she whispered, her voice earnest, "And how much it _hurts_?"

Tristan turned his head to look at her, his body hard and solid, though at her touch he shook lightly, "This isn't good for you, Rory. Talk to me." He pleaded. She shook her head, tightening her leg around him and pressing her hips into his. When he spoke his voice was weaker, "I don't want you to hurt." He whispered.

Her eyes opened, "But I do." She breathed again, connecting her lips to his, "I do so, so much. And I need you." She spoke into his ear, her hands finding their way down his body to the waist of his pants, "I _need_ you to make it stop." She pulled the knot free and slipped her hands lightly over his hip bones, "Please." She whispered, scraping her teeth gently over his neck. He shivered, swearing quietly, "_Please_." Rory brought her arms up and slid them out of the sleeves of her nightgown, letting the bodice of it bunch around her waist, leaving her upper body bare from her navel to her neck. Tristan's eyes never left hers. She laced the fingers of one hand in his hair and lifted her head as she pulled his down gently, meeting halfway. Her lips connected to his in a deep, eternal kiss.

Rory slid her other hand down his bare back, scraping her fingernails against his skin. She pulled away from the kiss slowly and looked up at him through clouded eyes. "_Please, Tristan,_ you're the only one who can make it stop." She whispered, sucking his lower lip gently, "The only one."

She felt him shiver and curse quietly, knowing that she was manipulating him so she didn't have to address what was really bothering her. But he was weak. He could never deny her anything. And so he kissed her deeply, hating himself, "Okay baby," he whispered into her ear, his voice breaking as his hand slid between her legs, parting them gently, "I'll make it stop."

**

Rory woke slowly, her head resting against a warm, solid chest. Her eyes were sore from the crying and her lower body was sore from Tristan's thorough comfort. She breathed in deeply, rubbing her cheek on his bare skin as she opened her eyes. It was still dark outside though the room was illuminated by a burning fire in the hearth. She wondered briefly how late it was; it must have still been the middle of the night. They'd woken up in the late afternoon and drifted back to sleep mid-evening after a fight unlike any they'd ever had followed by a makeup unlike any they'd ever had, never leaving the room.

Rory could hear rain hitting the roof. Tomorrow would be a miserable day, freezing and rainy. She pushed herself up to look around the room, the covers falling from her upper body. Stark shadows and harsh light cast by the fire in the otherwise black night made her squint to see the room. Duke was gone from in front of the fire. She thought that he must have been gone when she woke that afternoon, but she hadn't noticed. If he'd still been inside he would have been barking like mad at her and Tristan.

She shivered lightly; the stone walls, floor and ceiling radiated coolness despite the fire in the hearth. She brought a hand up to push her hair out of her face but it was hard to the touch. Sweat had dried in it where it touched her face, making it stiff. She twisted around, burying herself back under the covers and against Tristan's body.

She felt him shift, turning over to wrap his arm securely around her and pull her tight against him before settling back into the mattress again. Rory rolled over so that his chest was pressed against her bare back. Tristan yawned, burying his face in her hair, "How late is it?" his voice was thick.

"I don't know. The middle of the night." She answered, settling back against him. "It's raining."

"I hear." He mumbled, touching his lips to her shoulder sleepily. Rory bit her lip, about to speak, but didn't get the chance. Her stomach let out a loud rumble, protesting at being empty when she'd used so much energy before falling asleep. Her eyes widened in embarrassment and she sat still, hoping Tristan was too tired to notice. No such luck. He sat up, looking down at her in amusement, "Are you hungry?"

"_No_." she insisted, not turning off her side.

"Your stomach doesn't seem to agree."

"I'm fine."

He laughed, pushing the covers off of both of them. She protested loudly as the sudden cold. Tristan grabbed her, pulling her out of the bed with him, "I've seen you eat enough in one sitting to feed half of the army. We didn't anything yesterday. You're hungry."

She narrowed her eyes, checking the urge to stick her tongue out at him, "Fine." She grabbed a nightgown from her wardrobe; it was white and thick and warm, long-sleeved and knee length with a low square cut neckline. She grabbed a pair of boots that laced up almost to the bottom of her knee to keep her legs warm. When she turned Tristan was wearing the cotton pants and shirt he'd worn into her room. His hair was worse than hers had been, because it was short the sweat made it stand up in all directions.

His eyebrows arched when he saw her, "Nice boots."

She narrowed her eyes, "Shut up and get me food."

He grinned, wrapping an arm around her to pull her from the room, "Come on." He led her down the hall and the stairs towards the kitchen.

Her boots thunked heavily on the stone as they made their way down, her skirt swirled around her thighs. She looked up at him, scowling, "How come you walk so quiet?"

Tristan laughed, "What?"

She motioned towards his feet, "You're wearing boots too, but yours are quiet."

"That's because I don't stomp all over the place." Her eyebrows arched and he smirked, going on, "Besides, my legs are stronger. Your boots overpower you."

"Funny." She said dryly, not amused by his humor.

Tristan just grinned and kissed her temple, pulling her down the servants' corridor towards the kitchen. "What do you want?"

"Food."

He rolled his eyes as they came to the kitchen, pushing the door open to allow her to walk through ahead of him, "What kind?"

"Mmm…" she bit her lip thoughtfully, stepping into the large room. The constant fire roared in a huge open hearth on the far end of the room. Two kitchen servants were sitting at one of the counters, drinking something hot out of wooden mugs as they conversed. The kitchen was never completely empty because the fire was never put out. They looked up as Tristan entered and their eyes widened. They stood before sweeping respectful bows but he just waved a hand at them, inviting them to go back to what they were doing.

He brought her over to a large pantry and opened the door, pulling her in behind him, "What do you want?" he asked, looking around at the shelves.

Rory looked around as well, standing on her tip toes to see the higher shelves. "Ahh." She smiled reaching up to pull down a loaf of bread, "This. And…" she looked around, her eyes falling on a bunch of carrots. She grabbed some, "this." She turned around, handing her load to Tristan, "Here, hold that." Before turning back around to crouch in front of the lower shelves. She pulled out a jar of honey and held it up to him without looking back, "This is for you." He just smirked, amused, and took it from her. "Hmm…" she shuffled along the shelf, crouched down, "Cookies? Yes." She answered her own question, grabbing the jar and holding that out for him as well without waiting for his response. "I wish there was more to eat that we didn't have to cook." She muttered, tilting her head to see something on the shelf. Her hair slid out like a curtain. "Are there any potatoes?" she asked without looking up.

"Yeah, over on the other wall."

She glanced up where he indicated and chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully, "I don't like them unless they're cooked."

Tristan's lip quirked, "You know, we _can_ cook something if you want."

Her eyebrow arched, "Can you cook? Because I definitely can't."

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I can cook."

Her face brightened, "Really?"

"Yes, really. What do you want?"

"Cake." She answered without hesitation, standing up fluidly. "Here." she grabbed the carrots from him and threw them back in with the rest, "We don't need those."

He held up the rest, "What about this?"

She grabbed the honey and reached behind her to put it back on the shelf, "No…no." she took the bread from him as well and put it where it belonged.

He held up the jar of cookies, "What about these?"

She turned, her eyes landing on the last article in his hands. She tilted her head forward, "Are you serious?"

"I'll take that as a yes." He tucked the jar under his arm.

Rory grinned, leaning up to kiss him, "I love when you're smart." She pulled back and turned to the shelves, "Now, what do you need for cake?"

They gathered the ingredients he needed and came out into the main part of the kitchen and deposited everything on a table. The servants had gone, leaving the two of them alone. Rory jumped up to sit on the long counter that ran down the center of the room, her legs dangling over the side. She pulled the top off of the jar of cookies next to her and watched Tristan as he moved around the kitchen, pulling out mixing bowls and utensils.

They made small talk, laughing and bantering the whole time. She was surprised that he could cook, and told him so. He said he was surprised that she couldn't. She said he made a pretty house wench. He pulled her off the counter and wrestled her to the ground. Somehow they wound up on the floor, covered in flour and laughing, Rory breathless from Tristan tickling her. Their laughter slowed and Tristan captured her lips in his, cutting it off completely. Her arms came up to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer to her. Her leg came up to wrap around his waist, heavy from the thick boot. Tristan slid his hand up the back of her leg, moving his mouth deeply against hers. The cake batter still hadn't made it to the oven yet.

He broke away slowly, as if remembering where they were. Rory made a small sound of protest in the back of her throat and pulled him back, her lips connecting to his again. Tristan grinned against her lips and stood easily anyway, bringing her with him without breaking the kiss. She yelped quietly in surprise, her arms tightening around his neck and both of her legs going to lock around his hips as he picked her up. He walked over and sat her back on the counter, finally breaking the kiss. He laid another quick, light kiss on her still expectant lips before going back to the pan that he'd already poured the batter into. He slid it into the wrought iron oven next to the fire and wiped his hands on the sides of his pants, kicking the oven door closed before turning back to Rory.

She watched him, one leg crossed over the other. The foot on top bounced lightly. They stood in silence, looking at each other. Rory bit her lip, resting her palms on the countertop on either side of her, "So...."

Tristan nodded lightly, moving towards her, a bedroom look in his eyes, "So." He came to stand in front of her. She tilted her head affectionately and without another word he slid his hand up the back of the leg crossed over the top until it came to the bend in her knee. He pulled it up, sliding it off of her other leg and spreading them apart. His hands slid up her legs to clutch her hips. He pulled her forward so that she perched on the edge of the counter, her legs on either side of him. Rory bit her lip, grinning as she sat up straighter.

Tristan smiled gently, his face a breath away from hers. He moved his lips in front of hers as if he would kiss her; she tilted her face up, waiting for it, but he didn't kiss her. He just kept his lips a breath away from hers, barely touching, still grinning. Rory looked up at him from an inch away, biting her lip to hide a smile. Tristan slid his hand up from her hip to press into the small of her back, "Hey." He said quietly, his eyes bright.

Rory grinned, "Hi."

"How did you sleep?"

"Good. You?"

He nodded, "It was better than the past few nights, definitely."

She laughed lightly, bringing her hands to scrape her fingernails lightly up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair, "I think. We should sleep _less_." She said quietly, clenching her fingers in his hair suggestively.

Tristan chuckled gently, running his hands over her body to trail down her thighs, "Yeah?"

"Mhmm." She mumbled, nipping his bottom lip gently.

"And what could we _possibly_ do instead of sleep?" he asked lightly, a smile in his voice. Rory just bit her lip and looked into his eyes, grinning. Tristan laughed, finally leaning forward to kiss her. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Rory?" he muttered against her lips, trailing his hands back up her body.

"Hmm?" she mumbled, breaking her lips from his for only a moment.

He kissed her deeply before pulling back, waiting for her to open her eyes before he spoke, his voice quiet, "Why did you cry yesterday?"

She blinked, nearly unresponsive, "What?"

"Last night when I told you that I meant everything I said before, why did you cry?"

She continued to stare at him, biting her lip nervously, "Can we not talk about that?"

She leaned forward to kiss him again but he pulled back, pushing her away lightly, "No, we can't. Why did you cry?"

Rory sighed heavily, pulling her arms from around him to rest her hands on the counter on either side of her, "Tristan." She said quietly, shaking her head, "All those nights, you said things that I wanted. Things that I still want. Things that I want so much it…hurts…to hear them, because no matter how much we want them, they'll never happen."

He shook his head, "Rory-"

She cut him off, "You told me months ago that you had no control over your life, that you can't just do things because you want to. Like this."

He looked at her strangely, "Are you talking about when we were in the smithery?" She nodded. "That wasn't what I meant-"

"Tristan." She said gently, placing a finger over his lips, "We both know what this is." She shook her head sadly, "By now we're just kidding ourselves. What we _want_ doesn't matter. You told me that you couldn't choose to be with who you want so it doesn't matter whether you meant what you said or not. It doesn't change anything." Her voice was quiet. She thought if she spoke any louder her voice would probably break and she would cry again and it would be unintelligible.

He shook his head lightly, staring at her in disbelief. By now he knew her well enough to know that when she got this way, cold and cutting, it was because she hurt. Because he knew that he didn't get angry, instead he just crooked his finger under her chin, raising her gaze to his, "How can you possibly say it doesn't matter? That it doesn't change anything?"

She shook her head, trying to look away from him but he wouldn't let her, "Because I'm realistic."

He kept her face in place, his eyes boring into his, "No you're _pessimistic_. It isn't the same thing."

Rory's eyelids fluttered. Tears were pushing against the back of her eyes, "Stop it. This is just making everything worse."

Tristan raised her face, making her see him, "Rory…"

She shook her head, "No."

He ignored her, "Rory, I lo-"

"_Don't_!" she cried, slapping a hand over his mouth, "Don't, Tristan," she begged, shaking her head to push back tears, "please, please, don't do this."

He stared at her over her hand, his eyes burning. His hand slowly raised, curling gingerly around her fingers to pull them away from his face, "Why are you so afraid? You know it as much as I do. And you know that you feel the same."

She shook her head, her gaze locked with his, "Don't say it."

She saw his teeth clench, but mercifully he obeyed, shaking his head lightly and swearing under his breath, "Fine."

Rory bit her lip, raising her hand to trail her fingers across his jaw before she rested her palm on the side of his face. He relaxed his neck, closing his eyes as he let the weight of his head rest in her hand. She watched him, her heart breaking for him again, "Can't we just go back to the way we were before?" she whispered.

He opened his eyes and she was taken aback by how bright they were, open wide. He picked his head up and shook it minutely, staring at her, "I can't go back, Rory."

She looked down, letting her hair fall like a sheet to hide her face, "What is it that you want from me?" she whispered.

Tristan shook his head, brushing her hair back from her face, "I don't know." He whispered back, "I don't know."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Rory watched Callum run through an obstacle course two days later, following his movements through the dense trees. They'd erected a challenging course through several hundred yards of forest, making the men utilize their agility, swiftness, and combat skills. There were hastily constructed wooden walls, ditches, and ambushes set up throughout it. Callum, of course, was breezing through it. Most of the other men weren't. She sat on a small platform built into the top of the trees, a bird's nest where she could watch the men make their way through the entire thing.

She wrapped her cloak around her, pulling the hood over her head. There was little cover this high to block the freezing wind. A creaking came from below and she looked down to see the top of a messy blonde head climbing the rope ladder that led to the platform she sat on. Logan moved up it quickly, much quicker than she had, and in moments he was at the top. However once he got there he stopped, as if just realizing she was there. He stared up at her, his expression guarded. He didn't move.

They sat like that in silence for a moment before Rory sighed, closing her eyes, "Tristan told you."

"Yeah…" he answered slowly, cautiously, watching her through guarded eyes as he pulled himself up from the ladder.

She looked up at him, standing in front of her in the miniscule place. She patted the bench beside her, "Sit." Logan's gaze shifted to the spot next to her. He seemed to consider it for a moment before taking her offer. When he actually did sit down he somehow managed to do it with enough space between them that no part of their bodies touched. It was impressive, she wouldn't have thought it possible in their confined space. Neither of them spoke. They sat awkwardly for a stretch, Rory watching Logan while he stared at the men darting through the forest below them. "So…" she trailed off, uncertain of what she could say to him, "Now you know."

Logan swallowed hard, nodding, "Now I know."

Rory bit her lip, glancing away from him, "And…?"

He shook his head, still refusing to look at her, "And…I don't know what to think." His eyes were narrowed in thought, "I don't think I've wrapped my mind around the whole thing yet."

"Oh." Her voice was small. She turned to watch the men below them as well, not used to this awkwardness with him.

They sat in a heavy silence for a while before Logan finally broke it, his voice muted, "You could have told me, you know."

She looked over at him, surprised, "What?"

"You're a Hayden. You could have told me." He repeated, his eyes narrowed in thought, "You didn't have to carry it around on your own."

Rory exhaled quietly, pressing her lips together, "I wouldn't have wanted to put you in that position. You only would have been in danger."

He looked over at her, his expression still guarded, "I would have helped you."

She smiled warmly, touching his shoulder, "That's sweet Logan, but if Tristan had asked you would have been duty bound to tell him and I wouldn't want you carrying that around."

He stared at her steadily, "You could have told him too."

Rory sighed, pulling her hand back from Logan's shoulder, "Funny, that's what he said."

"Well it's true."

"No." she shook her head, looking at him pointedly, "It's not. I could never have told him. I could never have told anyone here. That would just needlessly endanger people."

"So you haven't told anyone?" he asked.

Rory shrugged, "Anna found out a few weeks ago, and then Tristan did. Other than the two of them I haven't said a word to anyone." She looked over at him, "Who all has Tristan told?"

"Just me. And I think Max. Though he probably wouldn't have said anything to us if we hadn't witnessed his meltdown when he realized who you were. He didn't say anything to me about it before he had me take you to the East Tower, but I think he didn't want me to worry now that the two of you have solved your issues. He told me this morning."

"Oh…" was all she said, quietly. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

"He won't tell anyone else." Logan assured her, "I doubt he wants it to get out."

She nodded slowly, still not looking at him, "Oh." She bit her lip, looking down at her hands, "What did he say about it?"

"Oh…" he looked down, his forehead tensing, "Uhm…he just said that you were the youngest Hayden. That you'd escaped when the rest of your family died and that he saw your crest…" he trailed off, knowing that that wasn't what she'd wanted. "He said that…when he realized that you were a Hayden…he felt the world fall away." He broke off, speaking quietly. Rory's head snapped around but he wasn't looking at her, "He said that it was like nothing he'd ever believed or had faith in was really true. I think because he has so much in you."

Rory bit her lip, dropping her gaze from him. Her hair fell between them like a sheet, "You mean _had_."

"No." he said quietly, looking over at her, "I mean _has_." She said nothing and Logan looked away from her. He bit the insides of his cheeks, grasping for something to talk about, "So then the story you told me about your family? Was that true?"

"More or less." She said quietly, shrugging, "I wasn't really four when my parents died, obviously, I was eight. They didn't die of a fever. And my father's cousin didn't die in a fire. Other than that it was true."

"Oh." He said slowly.

Rory looked over at him, "Can we get a new expression?"

Logan looked over at her, his lip quirking, "By all means."

"Thank you." She folded her arms, bringing the thick cloak tightly around her. She looked down at the people running through the course below them. The cold wind blew her hair back from her face and made her eyes water. She pulled the hood over her head, "It's freezing." She shivered, biting her lip, "does it seem colder to you?"

He shrugged, looking at the gray sky above them, "You've been up here longer than I have. I'm not as cold."

"Oh."

Logan's head snapped around at her use of the expression _'oh'_, his eyes wide, "You didn't!"

Her eyes widened, "What? Oh!"

"Leigh!" he yelled, grinning.

"Oh!" she shook her head, "No! No. Shut up."

He laughed, throwing an arm around her to pull her against his side affectionately, "Yeah, still the same."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"_Tristan_."

"Mmm."

"_Tristan_." Rory whispered again, gently shaking his sleeping body, "_Wake up_."

"Nuuuugh." He mumbled, rolling away from her and burying his face in the pillow.

"Come on, get up." She pulled his shoulder, rolling him back over towards her.

"_No_." he muttered, grabbing her and pulling her back down to the mattress and against his chest without opening his eyes.

"_Yeees_. Wake up." She pushed his arms away and sat up, pulling the covers off of him.

He swore sharply, his body jumping. His eyes opened, "What is it, Rory?" He'd gotten better at using her real name. It had been two weeks since he'd learned who she really was and for the first few days of reconciliation he'd still called her Leigh without thinking. It rarely happened now, however occasionally he did it, usually when he was very tired.

She smiled brightly, "Come on, I want to show you something."

He squinted up at her, still half asleep, "It's the middle of the night."

Her grin widened, "I know." She jumped out of bed and walked into his closet, coming back with two thick cloaks bundled in her arms, "Come on, put on a coat." She threw one to him and wrapped the other around herself. It was cut for him, so it dragged several inches on the ground and absolutely swallowed her. She looked back to see that he was pushed up on his elbows, staring at her as if she'd lost her mind. She motioned towards the cloak next to him on the bed, "Come on, come on. Do it."

Tristan sighed, shooting her another look before rolling heavily out of the bed and pulling the cloak around his shoulders, "What are we doing?"

She smiled brightly again, grabbing his hand, "Let's go." She bounced over to the door, pulling him after her.

"Rory, what…?" he trailed off, knowing that she wasn't going to answer him.

"_You'll see_…." She sang, leading him out of his room and into the hall, "It's a surprise." She pulled him along through the silent corridors, devoid of people but lit by torches lining the walls. She led him up several staircases, not speaking but humming with some insane energy that no one should posses in the middle of the night.

He looked around them, confused at their direction as she led him up yet another staircase, "Rory? Why are we going to the North Tower?"

She looked back at him, "Because there are no balconies on the lower floors."

His eyebrows arched, "We're not going _outside_?"

She bit her lip to hold back a grin as she nodded vigorously, "Mhmm."

Tristan shook his head lightly, "But it's freezing."

"_Exactly_."

His face drew in confusion as they came to the top of the tower, "But…"

"Trust me." She pulled him across the room at the top and out onto the adjoining balcony, shivering as the wind hit her.

He swore quietly as the wind blasted him but he followed her out nonetheless, "Rory, seriously, what are we doing?"

She didn't answer but pulled him over to the railing before she stopped, inhaling before turning towards him with a wide grin. "Now." she bit her lip, still grinning as she trailed her fingers up his arms to rest on his shoulders, "Breathe in deep." He once again looked at her as if she'd lost her mind but did it anyway, his eyes not leaving hers as his chest rose and fell heavily. He said nothing. Rory tilted her head forward, her hands sliding down to rest on his chest, "Do you smell it?"

Tristan shook his head lightly, "Do I smell what?"

"The_ snow_." She breathed, turning sharply away from him to lean out over the railing.

"What?" she could hear the disbelief in his voice, "Rory, it isn't snowing."

"It will." She said confidently, leaning her head back to look up at the black sky.

He shook his head, leaning sideways on the railing next to her so that he faced her, "It rained three days ago. It was freezing cold, but it didn't snow. It didn't even ice. Besides, there hasn't been a cloud in the sky all day."

She just smiled, still looking up at the sky as she shook her head at him, "I'm never wrong. I can always tell when it's going to happen. It's tonight."

Tristan crossed his arms over his chest, "You can tell when it's going to snow?" Rory nodded. "How?"

She shrugged, shaking her head lightly, "I don't know, I just can. My mother used to be able to and now as I've gotten older so can I." finally she looked over at him, still smiling, "I guess it's a family trait."

His eyebrow arched and he shook his head lightly, glancing up at the sky above them, "I don't know Mary, it isn't looking too likely."

"You'll see." She said lightly shifting closer to Tristan to allow him to wrap his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. She laid her head on his shoulder, sliding her arms around him from underneath his own cloak. They stood like that for a stretch, neither speaking in the comfortable silence. Rory closed her heavy eyes, letting Tristan's warmth sink into her through their clothes, "Wonderful things happen when it snows." She said quietly.

"You think so?" he asked gently, laying a kiss on her temple.

She nodded, her breath warm on his neck as she spoke, "I don't know why, but they do. It makes all the world new like a gift. It's like a blanket. It makes me feel safe."

"Safe?" his voice was soft.

Rory picked her head up to look at him. She bit her lip, nodding, their faces only a breath apart. "Safe." She whispered.

"From what?"

Her gaze darted between his lips and his mouth as his face moved closer to hers, "_Everything_." She whispered. Her body swam with his warmth; he still leaned closer, his lips inches from hers. She felt her eyelids flutter closed expectantly of their own accord. His hands were warm and solid on her back, holding her tight against him. She tilted her face up towards his. And nothing.

His lips never touched hers.

Rory opened her eyes, her eyebrows drawn together. Tristan's face wasn't close to hers anymore. Instead he was standing up straight, though his arms were still around her, his head tilted back to look above them. She followed his gaze up into the endless dark sky. Fat white flakes danced above them, slowly falling through the darkness. Rory felt herself grin. She watched as the snow fell towards them, finally reaching their level.

She lowered her gaze to look at Tristan, the snow falling behind him and around him and landing in his hair. She bit her lip, holding back a bright grin. Tristan stared at her in amazement. "Snow."

She nodded, slowly releasing her lip, "Snow."

~*~*

* * *

Rory walked down the corridor towards Tristan's study late the next morning. She'd woken to an empty room and brushed her hand down Tristan's side of the bed, the sheets rumpled from his body but no longer warm. She'd looked towards the window to see that it was no longer snowing but the ground was covered in a thick blanket, so bright from the sun shining off of it that it made her squint. There had been no sign of him anywhere. But that was Tristan, waking up at ungodly hours to start his day even after she'd woken him up in the middle of the night. And so she'd dressed quickly in one of several dresses that had appeared in Tristan's closet for her several weeks before and run her fingers through her hair to get the knots out before setting off to find him.

She'd assumed he'd be in his study and she came to the door, knocking three times in quick succession, not waiting for an answer before pushing open the door. But the sight that awaited her on the other side made her freeze. Tristan was standing in front of his desk with his arms crossed over his chest, a scowl etched onto his face as he glared hotly at... Kira. The laundry maid's chest was rising and falling rapidly as if she'd been yelling, her face flushed and her pretty features drawn into a scowl as well. They both turned towards the door as she came in.

So many thoughts hit Rory at once that she had no idea which to follow. Part of her wanted to fly at Kira and part of her wanted to back out of the room quietly. It was obvious from the way they were standing that nothing had happened, and she knew that Tristan didn't want Kira anymore, but still in the back of her mind she couldn't push away the thought that Tristan had been sleeping with Kira for three years. It seemed like there should have been something there that she shouldn't witness.

"_Did you need something_?" Kira snapped, breaking the silence, "We're busy."

"_Kira_." Tristan growled, stepping towards her.

Rory felt her eyebrows arch, the familiar carnal satisfaction of knowing that Tristan was helpless against her and no one else rising in her stomach. Her lip quirked lightly, gloating, "Yeah, actually, I do." She closed the door behind her and came into the room, walking easily up to Tristan. Without missing a beat she smoothly slid her fingers up the nape of his neck and into his hair, bringing his lips down to hers in a deep, hot kiss. Tristan's hands were immediately on her as if in reaction. One arm wound around her, pulling her tight against him. The other slid up to tangle in her hair, holding her face close against his. Rory's arm came around his neck and clutched the back of his shirt as she raised up onto her tip toes, connecting her mouth more fully to his. She felt him grip her skirt over the back of her hip, pressing her body against his.

There was a scoff next to them, "Are you done?"

Rory broke her mouth from his and turned to Kira, lowering her feel flat to the ground. She smirked lightly at the older girl, one hand still on Tristan's shoulder, "Not even close. But you have to leave for the rest."

Kira's eyes widened slightly, obviously not having expected that from her. She folded her arms, not looking as angry as she had before, "Well well, that's something that I wouldn't have expected from you, Little Leigh. You may be more of an obstacle than I thought."

Rory just stared at her for a moment before shaking her head lightly, "You really don't get it." she slid her hand from Tristan's shoulder to cross her own arms, almost amused, "I'm not competing with you."

Kira almost laughed, "You don't think so? Then what the hell was that?"

"Not for your benefit." She answered. "I don't have to compete with you, Kira. It's done. Now, you need to move along so we can continue."

She stared at Rory as if she couldn't believe what she'd just said. "You aren't seriously presuming to tell me to leave, are you?"

Rory just arched her eyebrows in answer.

Kira's eyes cut to the king, "Tristan."

He exhaled lightly as if he couldn't believe she was seriously asking him to contest, "Out."

She shook her head, confused, "But-"

"_Now_." he said quietly, cutting her off.

Kira looked between them for another moment before shaking her head lightly, "You're serious about this?"

He locked gazes with her, gravely serious, "I swear, Kira, if you don't stop this right now I _will_ have you removed from the castle. You'll go back to your home village. And you'll marry the fifty year old cobbler, just like your parents had planned before you came here. Understand?"

Kira flinched, her face darkening. She looked between them again, opening her mouth, but nothing came out. She shut it with a snap and just nodded stiffly before walking quickly from the room.

They stood in silence for a moment, the crackling fire the only sound. "So…what was that about?" Rory asked lightly, turning towards him again.

"Nothing happened. She came in a few minutes before you did. She still won't stop." His hands slid to her hips and he pulled her close, pressing her lower body warmly against his, "I tell her to leave, she doesn't listen, we start yelling, same old, same old." He leaned down to kiss her lightly, "Oh, very nice way of marking your territory, by the way."

Rory pulled back, grinning innocently, "What are you talking about?"

Tristan smirked, ignoring her faked innocence, "It's kind of like a dog."

Her eyebrow arched, "Marking my territory like a dog?"

He grinned, "Yeah you kind of did."

Rory bit her lip, shaking her head lightly, "I'm not done." She pushed him back, his lower back hitting the edge of the desk heavily.

His grin widened, "No?"

She shook her head, the corners of her lips tugging, "I have _all_ kinds of places in this room to mark."

Tristan's mouth opened, laughing in amusement, disbelief and obvious pleasure as she leaned up to kiss him again, her hands already sliding under his shirt. "And to think you used to be so shy." He muttered. She just laughed, pulling his shirt over his head.

*~*~*~

Rory laid on her stomach in front of the fire several hours later, a blanket spread under her as well as one thrown over her lower body. Her arms were crossed on the floor in front of her and her head was laying on them. Her eyes were closed, resting peacefully. Tristan lay next to her. She could feel the tips of his fingers tracing patterns across her bare back. Her entire body felt fluid, weak after exertion. It always did after.

She felt his fingers slide down to trail over her hips and across her lower back, right above the sheet. "Christmas is in two weeks." He said softly, his voice muted.

"Mhmm." She muttered without opening her eyes, content to let the fire warm her and to feel his touch across her skin.

"There's going to be a Christmas Eve ball and banquet."

"Yes, I know. They measured me a few days ago for a dress."

"Oh…" He said quietly, as if he wanted to say more. She opened her eyes slowly, looking up at him. He wasn't looking at her face but rather his eyes were following his hand as it traced across her back, his gaze far off. He was distracted. "Everyone who came during my birthday will be back." He broke off, biting his lip uncertainly. After a moment he spoke again, his voice lightly amused, "Stephanie and Madeline have both written to inform me that if I have any desire to enjoy the rest of my life you _will_ be present."

Rory felt herself laugh lightly, "Have they?"

His gaze swept up to her face, his eyes serious, "I was threatened with physical violence."

She felt herself smile at him but it was small. Tristan broke his gaze from hers; he was still distracted by something on his mind, his light words not matching his demeanor. She slid off of her stomach, turning to lay on her side so she was facing him. The movement made his hand slide from her back to trace over her stomach. She put her elbow to the ground and rested the side of her face against her hand, looking at him evenly. She expected him to look up at her face but he didn't. Instead his gaze stayed on his fingers as they moved from her flat stomach out to the curve of her side, trailing down the pale skin until they came to her hip, the cover slipping several inches. He gripped her hip gently, his thumb pressing against her crest. She watched his face, wondering what was going through his mind as he released the bone, tracing his thumb gingerly over the brand.

This wasn't uncommon for them. Many nights she rested against him, her eyes closed as she drifted off, his fingers tracing across her crest in wonder. He would stare at it, his forehead scrunched in concentration as if he still couldn't believe it was there. But he wasn't staring at it like that now. He was just looking down at it, his expression unreadable.

Rory bit her lip, touching his arm gently, "Are you okay?"

He looked up at her at that, his hand stilling on her hip. He stared at her for a moment as if making up his mind. After a stretch he sighed as if giving up, "What are you doing for the rest of the day?" she would have expected his voice to be quiet or bleak after the way he was acting. But it came out strong and genuinely curious. He was no longer distracted, evidently having made up his mind about whatever was bothering him.

She shrugged one shoulder and felt herself smile lightly, glad he didn't seem upset anymore, "I'm open to suggestions."

He nodded, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully, "I want to show you something."

Her eyebrows arched, surprised, "What?"

He shook his head, "I can't…I can't tell you. I have to show you."

"Okay…" she said slowly, looking up at him.

Tristan stood and she followed his lead, wrapping the cover that had been on top of them around her. "Here." He held her slip out to her.

"Thanks." she pulled it from his hand, the silky material sliding to hit the blanket that was around her shoulders. Tristan started pulling his clothes back on and Rory let the cover drop from her body before pulling the slip over her head. This was one of the few she had that wasn't corseted, though the dress she'd worn that day was. She grabbed it from the floor and slid it on as well. Tristan was standing several feet away, his side to her; his lose pants slung low on his hips, rubbing his hand through his hair as if he were tired. He hadn't put his shirt on yet, it was still in a puddle at his feet from where she'd ripped it off earlier that afternoon. Her gaze trailed up his solidly muscled arm to his shoulder before sweeping over his defined back. Her eyes caught on his crest, the tattoo between his shoulder blades. She'd always known it was there, but had never thought much about it before he found hers. She took a brief moment and allowed herself to wonder though she knew it would never happen, how she would feel if they did have a child. It would carry his crest…never hers. It was true that Tristan was the only child of a father with no brothers. Logan was his cousin on his father's side, the son of the late king's younger sister. He held the Huntzburger crest. Not Dugrey. There were others, though, Tristan's father had male cousins whose children still were and would always be marked with the Dugrey family's tattoo. She didn't. Her crest was dead. After she died no one would ever bear it again. She forced herself to push the thought from her mind as he slid on his shirt. Thinking over it would do her no good. "Tristan?"

He turned towards her, "Yeah?"

"Can you…?" she motioned towards her back where the dress laced up from her lower back to between her shoulder blades.

"Oh." He nodded, stepping towards her, "Yeah."

"Thank you." She pulled her hair over her left shoulder to get it out of the way and turned her back to him. His hands were warm on her as he worked his way up her back, pulling the lace taught. She could feel the heat coming off his skin through her clothes.

His movements were slow, drawn out as if he didn't want to break his touch from her. They didn't speak, the only sound between them was the fire crackling in the hearth as he tightened her dress. When he got to the top she could feel herself shiver as the back of his fingers brushed against her bare skin while he tied off the corseted back. She bit her lip, letting her back press against his solid chest. His hands slid from between her shoulder blades, the knot done, and made their way slowly down her body to wrap around her from behind. He pulled her deeper against him as his lips fell to her exposed shoulder and back, leaving warm full kisses along her skin. He worked his way up her shoulder and neck to kiss her temple gently, "You're going to want to wear something warmer. We'll be outside for a while."

She turned her head to look at him, surprised, "_Outside?_" He nodded. Rory turned in his arms to face him, "Where are we going?"

Tristan looked down at her for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip thoughtfully. He brushed a lock of hair back from her face to occupy himself as he considered what to say. She waited patiently, having no way to even imagine what he was going to show her. Finally he spoke, "Mitchum, Logan's father, has a huge estate to the west of the city. We're going there."

Rory felt her forehead tense in confusion. That wasn't quite the last thing she'd expected, but it was close, "Why?"

"There's something there I want you to see."

She continued to look up at him, lost, "At Logan's…father's…estate?" she asked slowly.

Tristan nodded, "On his land."

Rory exhaled heavily, "I'm confused."

Tristan smiled affectionately, leaning down to kiss her deeply. He pulled back after only a moment, "Trust me."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, "Bad choice of words."

He laughed lightly, brushing his thumb over her lower lip, "_Trust me_." He repeated, serious though still bright.

She looked up at him, chewing on her bottom lip suspiciously, "Warm clothes?"

Tristan nodded, "We'll be riding. So wear boots too." He tapped her bottom lip thoughtfully before opening his mouth again, "Unless of course you want a carriage. That might be warmer but it will take a few hours to get there. Riding it will take less than two."

Rory leaned back from him, her head back so that she could look into his face from this close. She didn't know what to think with his behavior, "What kind of surprise is this?"

He shook his head lightly, exhaling, "It's a good one, I hope."

"You _hope_?"

Tristan sighed and she saw a glimmer of worry, "Rory, I don't know how to explain it to you. Believe me, you'll want to see it for yourself."

"Okay." She said quietly, tracing his fingers gingerly down his arm, "Then I want to ride."

**

Half an hour later Rory was walking to the stables with Tristan, several layers of wool stockings covered her legs under knee-high riding boots lined with fur on the inside and around the top. She had several layers on her body for insulation under a warm dress that was light enough for riding and over all of it was draped a thick fur-lined winter cloak.

Tristan trudged next to her, though he looked much more put together. He had on warm clothes as well, she knew, and probably as many layer as her, but all she could see of it was brown pants tucked into a heavier pair of fur-lined riding boots and a long sleeved wheat colored shirt. There was also a warm riding cloak around his shoulders.

He led her up to the stables, casually waving to the man tending them. She noticed, of course, that while she couldn't go anywhere without being bombarded with questions about why she was there, Tristan was able to go where ever he wanted and take whatever he wanted and no one batted an eye. The man tending the stables questioned nothing as Tristan saddled two horses and led them outside.

"Here, this one is yours." He motioned towards the one to his right before crouching next to the horse and lacing his fingers, palms up, to give her a step up.

She put one foot in his gloved hands, one hand on his shoulder to steady herself and the other on the horse's back. She stepped up easily and settled into the saddle, "Thanks."

He grinned lightly, nodding once before swinging himself effortlessly up onto his own saddle. "Are you warm enough?" he asked. She nodded, sliding her fingers over the horse's reins. "Okay," Tristan's jaw hitched towards the west wing of the castle, "Come on, this way." He nudged his horse with his heels and pulled at the reins, guiding it in the right direction.

Rory followed curiously, pulling her horse up to trot next to his. They rode in silence for a moment, Rory biting her lip. Once they reached the tree line that of the castle grounds and entered the forest she spoke, "So this thing you want to show me…it can't be reached by road?"

He glanced over at her, smirking lightly, "No, not really. It isn't off a road."

"It's on Mitchum's land, though?" she asked.

"Yes, it's on his land."

She shook her head lightly, "But you won't tell me what it is?"

Tristan didn't answer at first. He chewed on the insides of his cheeks, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully, "I think…that it would be best if you saw it rather than me telling you."

"But why?"

He shook his head lightly, "Because I'm not sure whether you'll want to kill me or hug me when you see it."

**

Tristan was true to his word and it was just less than two hours after they started that he slowed his horse, bringing it to a walk. Rory slowed hers as well, staying even with him. He'd announced twenty minutes before that they were on the Huntzburger's land and they were almost there. She'd spent much of the ride through the forest trying to get him to crack and tell her what he was showing her but to no avail. Finally after more than an hour she'd given up and they'd passed the ride like they always did, laughing and bantering and joking.

"It's just up here." Tristan said quietly, suddenly back to the distracted state he'd been in earlier that afternoon.

She shook her head, following his gaze, "I don't see anything. We're in the middle of the woods. What are you possibly keeping out here?"

Tristan turned to look at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he looked back before them and cast his gaze towards the sky. He nodded through the dark, gnarled, leafless branches towards the sky a little ways away, "Do you see anything?"

She leaned her head back, looking in the direction he was focused on. She could see sharp branches…the blue sky that was clear now that it was no longer snowing…a few clouds…and…smoke? She turned to look at him, confused, "That's smoke from a house."

He nodded, "Yes."

"But the main house is a mile that way." she pointed to the left of the column of smoke.

Tristan nodded again, "You're right."

"You want to show me a house in the middle of the woods?" she asked, "You want to show me what's _inside_ the house?"

Tristan sighed as if steeling himself, "Just…come on." He pulled the reins lightly, turning his horse in the direction of the smoke. She followed and within moments a strangely shaped building came into view. Vast and shaped like a normal home cabin, wasn't_ big_ as much as it was _tall_…four stories, she would guess. It was hard to tell exactly how high it was because the only windows were at the very top. Other than the windows the only break she saw in the solid walls was the large front door with two men dressed in the uniform of the king's personal guard flanking it. The skeletons of large trees dotted the small lawn and she thought that in the summer it must have been beautiful. Smoke curled from two chimneys, one on each side of the house.

Tristan led her into the yard and stopped the horses. Rory stared up at the huge house in amazement, speechless. Tristan slid from his own horse and she felt one of his hands on her thigh, the other on her waist to help her down. She allowed him to pull her easily from the horse and into his arms before he set her gingerly on the ground. She hadn't looked away from the house. "_Who lives here?_" she asked finally, in disbelief. It wasn't so much that she was shocked by the size of the house as that it was in the middle of the forest and higher than any building like it she'd ever seen.

Tristan pressed his lips together, turning to face her, "I am so sorry." He whispered.

Rory turned to look at him, her forehead scrunching in confusion, "For what?"

He raised his hand hesitantly to brush it through her hair, his voice pained, "I should have told you sooner."

"Told me what?" she asked, glancing between his face and the house. "What is this?"

He didn't answer but cupped her face gently, leaning down to press his lips softly against hers. He pulled back after only a moment, "Come on." He whispered, taking her hand in his and leading her to the house. She followed, lost.

One of the men in the uniform of the king's personal guard stayed at the door but the other came forward and dropped to one knee, "Tristan." He said quietly, bowing his head.

Tristan nodded to him, "Clay." The man looked up and Tristan motioned towards the house, "We're going to be inside for a while. Care for the horses." The man nodded but didn't say another word, obediently going to the animals.

Rory stared up at him as if she'd never seen him, confused by his informal manner and their unknown location. "_Tristan_." she said quietly, wanting an answer.

He looked down at her, his expression bleak. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her against him. The other hand came to trace across her bottom lip, "Come on. I'll show you now." he whispered, his voice saturated with the most profound sadness.

She opened her mouth to speak but he was already walking, the arm wrapped securely around her brought her along too. At the door the other soldier nodded to them, bowing his head to Tristan as he pushed the door open for them. They stepped inside and the guard closed the door behind them, staying outside and leaving the two of them alone in the entryway. Rory looked around her, amazed. The inside didn't look how she'd expected. It wasn't large, but tall. She'd been right in thinking it was four stories, but they weren't really floors, rather lofts that rimmed the walls of the cabin and were open over the main floor. The loft-like floors left the center of the room open all the way to the ceiling, almost like a dome, where light slanted in through a huge sunroof, lighting the house enough to make up for the lack of windows.

On the main floor, to their right, was a large hearth with a fire crackling in it and in front of it sat several comfortable looking chairs and a couch. The furniture was on a large ornate rug so as not to damage the wooden floors. Around the fireplace the wall was set with bookshelves and hundreds upon hundreds of books lined the wall. To their left was a small kitchen area with a counter, storage space, and a smaller hearth for cooking. The rest of the main floor was open, though books and papers and even clothes were thrown around as if it were very lived in. On the wall across from them was a sturdy ladder that connected the lowest floor to the second floor. It looked like a sturdy stone loft that ran around the entirety of the open cabin, eight or ten feet wide from one side to the other. What she could see of the second story was that it had a large bed and several wardrobes and changing screens, as if that level were a bedroom. There was a ladder connecting that to the third story, which looked to hold musical instruments and weapons, as if it were for storage, and in the highest loft she couldn't see anything, but that was the only floor that actually had windows. That just looked as if it were a place to go to relax. It looked to have several chairs as if it were a lounging area.

She'd barely finished taking in the house when a sound over by the fire made her turn. A young man, who had evidently been sitting in one of the larger chairs facing the fire, stood. He turned towards them, already grinning, "Tristan! It's been a…while…" he trailed off, catching sight of Rory.

He was about Tristan's height and build similarly, though very slightly slimmer. He looked to be Tristan's age as well and was surprisingly springy, fit and healthy looking for someone who lived in such isolation. There was something about his face, or maybe it was his expression, or the way he held himself, that made her start. That made her jaw drop. But that wasn't what struck her most. What struck her the most was his eyes…_her _eyes.

He stared at her as well, his dark hair disheveled and his bright blue eyes wide as if he'd seen a ghost. His mouth parted slightly as if he would speak. He seemed to have forgotten Tristan was in the room. They stood like that, staring at each other as if the ground had fallen from under them…as if the world had stopped moving and nothing was real. She saw his expression and knew that hers was the same…the _exact _same.

Silence engulfed all of them for a stretch before he spoke cautiously, his voice hoarse, "_Rory?_"

She felt herself gasp, her hand flying to her heart. "_Richard?_"

He nodded mutely, too shocked to speak, and Rory felt her legs move of their own accord. She shot forward and he held his arms out for her, unable to move forward before she crashed into him; her big brother caught her, stumbling back from the impact.

**

Tristan watched Rory and her brother for a moment, his heart falling strangely at the sight of them. He hadn't planned to stay anyway. He'd planned to bring her to Richard and then leave, only staying if they needed him to mediate conversation if it was awkward or uncomfortable. But looking at them now it seemed as if both were overcoming their shock quite easily. He'd never seen Richard particularly excited, but watching them now it looked as if Rory's tendency to shoot around like a ball of energy and babble faster than any human being had a right to were family traits. He felt uncommonly empty watching them and only stayed for seconds after the siblings had moved towards each other before backing silently towards the door, wanting to look away but unable to make himself.

He stepped outside into the freezing air, oddly refreshed by it. It cleared his head, made him think of something other than the Hayden brother and sister. Looking at them, watching them, made him feel hollow. Not because he didn't have siblings, it wasn't that. He couldn't put it into words or even an exact thought, but it was something about Rory's face when she'd seen her brother…the way they ignited and burned the moment they saw each other and everything in the world had seemed to shift and swirl around that cabin in the forest. It was the way she talk to her brother, the way she beamed. She loved him. It was a way she'd never looked at Tristan.

He knew, realistically, that anyone seeing their brother whom they'd presumed dead for ten years would react that way. He knew that he couldn't judge the way she felt about him by how she acted towards her brother. But still, a part of him had crumbled at the sight. He stood in the cold winter air, sunlight bouncing off the blinding snow and making him squint. He flexed him fingers inside his gloves, chewing on the insides of his cheeks thoughtfully. It was Rory. She wasn't alone anymore. He had realized some time before that he had already invested far too much in the girl, cared for her much too deeply. She'd become the only thing real to him, the only one he could touch and feel and want; the only one who understood him and didn't expect more from him than he was able to give. She saw him as a man, as a human with just as many limitations as everyone else. No one else understood that he was only human; they all had him built up on a pedestal so high he couldn't see the ground and could barely breathe. She'd released him from that, and in doing so had taken everything from him. She'd been the only one who had ever made him feel like he wasn't alone…like he had someone who would be there for him, who would help him and if need be even save him, no matter the cost or circumstances. He'd never felt the need to have someone to support him or believe in him and he'd certainly never felt the need for anyone to save him. But she did, without even thinking. When she said his name she breathed _salvation_.

When they'd met, she'd been as alone as he was. But not anymore. Now that she had her brother back she wouldn't need to cling to him so tightly. She may not even need him at all. He'd had the thought before that, possibly, she clung to him because she was lonely. He was the last thing she had connecting him to her old life, the only one who knew and understood her birthplace and the only thing that insured she didn't forget her family. Now that she had her brother back she didn't need him to keep her grounded. She had someone better equipped to make her remember who she was. _Had_ she only clung to him to remember who she was? Now he would find out.

He was pulled from him thoughts when a concerned voice spoke from next to him, "My lord?" He looked up, caught off guard, to see that Clay, one of the soldiers charged with guarding Richard, was standing next to him uncertainly. "Are you alright?"

He nodded jerkily, clenching his back teeth against the grinding in his head, "Yes Clay, thank you."

The guard still looked concerned but didn't mention it again, changing the subject, "That girl," he started quietly, nodding towards the door behind Tristan, "she's Richard's sister, isn't she?"

Tristan looked at him without reaction, blinking slowly. It took too much effort. "Yes." He said quietly, "And she's going to stay here for a little while-"

"You aren't?" Clay interrupted him, surprised. The guards who kept Richard were Tristan's most trusted. They didn't feel the need for the same cold and informal relationship the rest of the soldiers had with him.

Tristan looked at him for a moment before shaking his head lightly, "No. There's no place for me here." Clay said nothing, unsure of what he _could_ say. Tristan went on, "I need to get back. When she comes back tonight at least one of you escort her. Two if you can spare it."

"I'm sure we can." He assured the king, "It's always quiet here."

Tristan nodded, looking him in the eye, "Escort her back, but if she doesn't want to return to the castle…" he broke off, swallowing hard to make himself get through what he was saying, "…don't make her."

"Yes, my lord." He nodded in understanding.

Tristan nodded as well and started walking towards his horse. Clay followed him companionably and they moved in silence. When they got the horse Tristan hesitated, one hand on the saddle. "Clay." He said quietly, turning to face the guard. Clay looked at him attentively. "That girl is very…dear, to me." He nodded towards the soldier for emphasis, "Yes? Keep her safe."

Clay nodded, "Of course, Tristan." Tristan nodded distractedly, glancing back at the cabin. Clay spoke again, "But…you aren't riding back alone, are you?"

Tristan looked back at him, "Yes, I am."

He shook his head, "One of us should go with you."

"Clay, I'm fine."

"No." he shook his head, "Tristan, I really have to insist. You can't ride twenty miles back through the forest alone. I'm going to accompany you."

Tristan looked at him for a moment as if considering protesting. He realized it would do no good and threw his hand at Clay dismissively, "Fine. But I don't want any talking."

The guard laughed lightly and went to get one of the horses from the small barn over by the treeline. Tristan cast another glance at the house, his chest clenching coldly again. He swung himself up onto the saddle, making himself look away.

**

Rory shook her head in disbelief, clutching her brother's arms tightly as she looked over every inch of his face, taking him in. He looked just like their father with his defined jaw, forehead, and nose. He had laugh lines crinkling around his eyes already, just like their father. But his eyes were the same as hers, just like their mother. His hair was also darker than hers, nearly black like their mother's had been. They'd always looked alike, getting their mother's striking looks while their older sister, God rest her soul, had gotten the honey skin, lighter hair and warm eyes of their father. Rory still remembered wishing all of her young childhood that her dark hair would lighten in the sun and fall into waves like Victoria's had, that summer days spent outside would give her a golden tan like her sister rather than hot burn that cooled and barely turned her skin a shade darker than it had been.

She stared at her brother now but her mind wouldn't wrap around it. She just kept saying in awe, "I can't believe it. _I can't believe it_."

Richard smiled, his eyes crinkling and his laugh lines deepening. He squeezed her tight against him, "Rory, Rory, Rory. I've always remembered you for your articulation."

She laughed, too ecstatic and shocked to even bother telling him to shut up. Belatedly she remembered Tristan was behind her. He'd told her earlier that when she was what he was going to show her, he didn't know whether she'd want to hug him or kill him. She pulled back from her brother and turned, about to tell him that it was most definitely the first, but as she swung around she froze. Tristan was gone.

She stood still and tilted her head in confusion, looking at the place she'd been standing with him before. Gone. Richard touched her arm, getting her attention, "What is it?"

Rory shook her head lightly, "Where is Tristan?"

Richard looked down at her, surprised, "He left a few minutes ago. Why?"

She exhaled quietly in disbelief, "I didn't even realize he'd gone."

Her brother looked down at her for a moment, watching her expression, "…Tristan?" he said after a moment. She looked up at him. He pressed his finger under her chin lightly, bringing her eyes to his, "The way you say his name…" he trailed off, his head tilting suspiciously, "How are you on a first name basis with the king?"

Rory was surprised that she didn't get the urge to push his hand away like she usually did if someone other than Tristan touched her face. But she didn't want to answer his question, knowing how it would look. Instead she looked up at him squarely, her lip quirking playfully. She couldn't_ not_ be happy with him, "I could ask you the same thing."

Richard looked down at her, turning his head to the side to look at her slyly from the corner of his eye. His voice when he spoke was light and unjudgemental, "Yes, I might be on informal terms with him but he certainly doesn't look at me like he looked at _you_."

Rory laughed out loud and threw her arms around him again, pulling him so tight against her they could barely breathe. She held him close, her face buried in his shoulder. Feeling him solid and healthy and just _alive_ under her made a presser build behind her eyes. As her initial shock and amazement and uncontainable joy sifted away she was left with the most intense thankfulness and warmth. She didn't know why it made her cry. She felt it in him, too; she couldn't say how, but she did. She felt the humor drain from both of them to be replaced with grateful reverence and seriousness.

Rory pulled back, "How?" she breathed through her tears, holding his face between her hands.

Richard shook his head lightly, staring down at her, "The servants in Grandfather's estate hid me, said I was one of theirs. After the searching stopped I went out on my own. They would have kept me but I didn't want to endanger them. How did you escape?"

"You know, I went to stay with father's cousin Laurel in Stars Hollow but I wasn't home that day, I was outside of town when the soldiers came and killed Laurel and Jason. Laurel's friend and her husband took me in." she sat on the ground, pulling him to sit right beside her, "How did you survive?"

He shrugged, "I was almost thirteen, I was old enough to go out on my own. I moved from place to place."

"You never had a home?" she asked, incredibly saddened by the thought. He shook his head. "But how were you caught?"

A look of bitter amusement flashed across his face and he patted his hip affectionately, "I was drunk one night and I underestimated a village girl. I didn't think she'd realize what it was, and even if she did happen to see it I didn't imagine she'd know what to do about it." He shot his sister a crooked grin, "Anyway, _I_ thought she was too drunk to notice it. _She_ thought there would be a reward. I'd say we were both disappointed, eh?" she smiled lightly, her mind still reeling. He went on quietly, the lightness leaking from his face, "They came two nights later…I was renting a room in a village close to the Gildren border. They came into my room in the middle of the night…I was holding my own until a fourth one jumped in on the ambush." He shot her a grin, "But they eventually got me and dragged me from the building. They knocked me unconscious and I woke up a day later tied up in a carriage. They brought me to the castle and locked me in the dungeon…I wasn't there for long before Tristan came. When I first saw the king…I thought, _this is it. I'm going to die._" He looked at his sister, "Have you ever heard it said that when you know you're about to die, you begin to see your life before your eyes?" she didn't respond, but he went on, his voice quiet. She could see the beginnings of tears in his eyes, the kind that didn't fall but swam eternally, "Do you want to know what I saw?" he voice was scratchy, barely audible. And she shook her head. She didn't want to think of him like that, practically dead, not after all this time. But he went on. "Do you remember two summers before it happened? We went to Grandfather Hayden's estate?" his voice was thick, "But no, I guess you wouldn't. You were so young." She'd been six, and added to the young age the fact that she barely remembered anything from her early childhood because of what had happened to her family, she most certainly did not remember that trip. She remembered flashes, but not the trip itself by any means. He went on, "The last night we were there, mother and father took us on a horseback ride, do you remember, you rode in the saddle with me? Father wanted you do ride with him but you'd only go if you could ride with me?" Rory shook as she nodded slowly, trying to push back tears. It wasn't working. He went on, his voice quiet, "I remembered that. Just us, all of us, together, riding through the woods and down the trails together. I remembered you holding me so tight because you had terrible balance." He smiled lightly, "And I just…I thought about that day, and I didn't care anymore. I didn't care if I died, because then I'd be with all of you again." He finished, his voice breaking.

Rory didn't know what to say. She was surprised when he went on, "But then Tristan looked at me…he really looked at me, and I could tell he was livid. He wanted to hit me, I swear. But then he just stared at me for a minute, and all of his anger faded away. He looked at me in shock for a moment and then just walked away. And the guards brought me here." He cast a glance around the cabin. "At first I was in shock, I kept trying to think of ways to get out but it's impenetrable, I swear. The walls are solid stone and thicker than any house I've seen. There only door is guarded every moment by two guards and there aren't any windows until the fourth level…I guess they knew I wouldn't jump that far to escape, I wouldn't get far with two broken legs. I wouldn't eat for fear the food was poisoned, but eventually I did. And after a few weeks Tristan actually came to see me. We were seventeen then, and I thought he'd come to kill me or torture me…you know they still don't know why dad killed his father?" he didn't wait for an answer before going on, "But when he came, he wasn't angry. He was frustrated, I think, about something to do with the army, and he started rattling on about it. He tried to talk to me for hours, but I wouldn't speak to him. Eventually he left, but a few days later he came back and started talking to me about jousting." He smiled lightly at his sister, shaking his head, "And I don't know why, but for some reason for the past five years he comes by every few weeks to talk to me. To practice fighting. To discuss ideas." He shook his head again, "I don't know what his plan is, but I never felt threatened again."

"Do you like it here?" she asked.

Richard sighed thoughtfully, his shoulders falling as if the question were more complicated than it seemed. He considered his answer for a stretch before speaking, "I know, really, that this is a prison. There are nine guards that switch out every week, always three at a time, to stay here. For the first year I couldn't leave the house, then I could go out onto the grounds. Now I could probably go wherever I wanted. Hell, half the time when Tristan comes here he wants to practice sword fighting. I _sword fight_ with the _king_. They probably wouldn't kill me if I tried to run away…" he trailed off, thinking. He broke his gaze from hers, glancing down at his hands, "Rory, I know I'm a prisoner here but I would never go back to the way it was before I got caught. All the running…the lying and the hiding, never being close to anyone, never having any true friends for fear that they'd figure out who I was…" he shook his head lightly, "I would never go back to that. I mean, it isn't even really _living_. That's not a life." He glanced back up at her, "Tristan doesn't want me dead, but I think letting me go is too dangerous, and really it isn't bad here. It's a small space but I don't have to live in constant fear of being discovered. I don't have to keep everyone at arm's length because if they find out who I am it will endanger them." he sighed, flexing his fingers distractedly, "I know how that sounds, choosing imprisonment, but Rory, I can't go back to the way it was before. I _can't_."

Rory watched her brother quietly, unsure of what she could say. The silence stretched between then, "Do you hate him? For what he did?" she whispered finally.

Richard looked at her deeply, crossing his arms over his chest. He became thoughtful, "I think in the beginning, yes, I did. And part of me still does. I hate what he did to our family, yes, but I also understand _why_ he did it. As for hating Tristan himself…" he trailed off, sighing, "He's a hard person to hate, Rory."

She almost laughed, "I know."

They sat in silence for another stretch before he finally spoke.

"What happened with you? Laurel's friend took you in? You were too young to be on your own."

Rory nodded and told him briefly about her life in Stars Hollow…."And then a few months ago the soldiers came through recruiting new men for the king's guard and because I'm so good with a sword they brought me." Richard whistled quietly, shaking his head. Rory smiled at him, "And I was only here for a few weeks before Tristan told me that he didn't want a woman in the guard. He said something about protecting women, and then told me that he wanted me to stay and help train the men." She glanced towards the skylight, her face screwing up in concentration as if she didn't want to go on.

Richard nodded slowly, "Yes, I see that. But I don't understand how you came to be on a first name basis with the king." She looked up at him and said nothing. So he spoke again, "I mean really, Rory, the way he was looking at you it was almost like…" he left the sentence trailing.

She looked down, biting her lip, "Like what?"

Her brother shook his head helplessly, "Like he loved you."

She slowly raised her head to look at him. When she spoke her voice was muted, "I don't know, I think…I think he might?"

Richard stared at her, almost as shocked as he'd been when he first saw her, but there was a sadness there too, "What?"

Rory exhaled heavily, dropping her gaze again, "When I first came here, he singled me out because I was the only girl who'd been brought with the new guard, but the longer I was here the more he…paid attention to me, I guess." She blinked slowly, staring at the ground before them, "And then about a month and a half ago…" she trailed off, looking up at her brother.

He watched her for a moment before realization stretched across his face, "Oh Rory…" he trailed off, shocked, "So then you…" he trailed off again suggestively. She nodded. "That's when he found out? How long had you been here?"

She laughed lightly, "Oh no, no that isn't when he found out. He didn't find the crest until a few weeks ago. And I've been here for almost five months."

He stared at her incredulously but the only thing that came out of his mouth was, "Well, it is very small and easily missed." He stared at her for another moment, conflicting emotions swimming over his face, "But you…you and the king now…you're his…" he trailed off, but he didn't have to finish, it was written all over his face. _Whore._ She shook her head, "No. It isn't like that."

Her brother laughed, not unkindly, but sadly, "Rory, come on."

"No." she cut him off, "No, I know how that sounds, but it isn't. Richie believe me, it isn't like that between us. I thought it was too, that was why I never told him who I was. But when he found out…" she trailed off, shaking her head, "Richie when he found out I swear I was afraid he'd kill me that moment. But he wasn't even mad about that. I mean, he was angry, of course, but more than anything he was hurt. And he tried to hide it, he did, but I could see, he was hurt that I'd lied. That I hadn't told him the truth. I look back now and even though I know telling him would have been foolish, I know he never would have hurt me." She grabbed his hands, holding them close to her heart, "In all honesty, Richie, he felt lied to. He was hurt. The look on his face, it wasn't of anger or hate or rage. It was like…" she trailed off, her gaze far off, "It was like he was watching his best friend die." Her voice was quiet, "Logan, do you know Logan?" her brother nodded quickly, wanting her to go on, "I spoke to him later and he told me, he said that Tristan told him that when he realized what the crest was he felt his world was slipping away, like nothing he'd ever believed was really true. Like the ground was falling from under him." She bit her lip, "And Richie, honestly, I know what it must sound like, I thought I was just another one too, but the way he looked at me the first night I went to him, it was the night his father died and…Richie, he was more frightened than I was. I know how it looks, but I'm not like the others. Not to him."

**

It was late that night when Rory quietly pushed open the door to Tristan's bedroom. She looked over to see that he was asleep in bed, the fire crackling warmly in the hearth. She bit her lip, unable to hold back her smile as she watched him sleep. She pulled her stockings off and slid out of her dress, not bothering to take off her slip or put on a real nightgown as she slid into the bed. Tristan was on his side, facing away from her, and so she wrapped her arm around him from behind, pressing herself warmly against his back and burrowing her face into the back of his neck as she settled next to him, surprisingly tired after spending the day with her brother.

She felt him move, muttering something as he rolled onto his back, "Rory?"

She moved away from him fractionally, adjusting her body against his before relaxing into his side, her arm still around him, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

Tristan brought his arm over and wrapped it around her, holding her close, "I was half awake anyway." He said quietly, looking down at her. She smiled warmly up at him, biting her lip, but said nothing. Tristan's forehead creased, amused, "What?"

Rory pushed herself up, one hand on his chest so that she was over him, looking into his face, "Thank you." She whispered, her voice achingly sincere.

He sighed lightly, pushing himself into a sitting position as well. Rory sat back so that they were facing each other. Tristan spoke slowly, "I should have taken you to him sooner, I know. But I just didn't know how to-"

"_Tristan_." she cut him off, putting a finger to his lips. She looked at him as if he'd lost his mind, "My brother who was dead is here. He's _alive_. Never apologize for that." Tristan's face relaxed. He sighed lightly, looking at her. He said nothing and silence stretched between them. Rory bit her lip, tilting her head, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Tristan shook his head, narrowing his eyes slightly, "I just…I didn't know whether you'd come back."

Rory almost laughed, "What?"

"I didn't know if you were going to come back."

She shook her head lightly, confused, "Of course I came back."

"I didn't know if you'd want to stay with Richard." He clarified.

Rory shook her head again, shifting towards him. She raised her hand to trace it along his jaw, "No Tristan, I want to _keep_ Richard. I want to _stay_ with you."

Tristan turned his head, kissing the back of her hand gently. He said nothing.

She bit her lip, her gaze following her finger as she slid it lightly across his lower lip, "I'm tired." She whispered, her voice barely audible. Her gaze swept up to his eyes, "Do you want to go to bed?"

"Yeah." He nodded gently, slipping one hand around her back; the other came to curl around the back of her head. He brought her towards him, his mouth meeting hers in a warm, solid kiss. He laid back, pulling her with him without breaking his lips from hers. And she curled against him, her mouth moving slowly against his as they drifted to sleep.


	16. Chapter 16

Rory trailed her fingers lightly up Tristan's chest, pushing his loose night shirt up as he slept. She watched him, biting her lip to hold back a grin as he shifted in his sleep, muttering quietly, but didn't wake. Early dawn light bled through the gap in the curtains though it did little to make the room brighter; a fire still roared in the hearth across the room, warming them from the winter snow outside. Rory watched him, his skin bronze in the stark fire light. She slid down his body, pressing her lips to his lower stomach warmly; her gaze lifted to his face, watching for his reaction. He mumbled again but did nothing else. She grinned, kissing her way slowly up his body, pushing his shirt higher and higher up as she went, her hands trailing up his sides as her lips went up the center of his torso, her eyes never leaving his face. When she came to his chest she pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor. He was half conscious by then, his body shifting as he felt her on top of him though his eyes still hadn't opened. Rory leaned back down, trailing her mouth across his chest, grinning as he tried to wake up.

By the time he could open his eyes she'd made her way up his neck and was scraping her teeth over the shell of his ear, whispering to him to wake up. His hands came to grip her upper arms, pulling her down against him without opening his eyes. She laughed, collapsing on his bare chest heavily. He slid his hands slowly down her body, trailing down her sides and then her legs until he came to the skirt of the slip she'd slept in. His hands traced over the bare skin her legs before slipping under her skirt to slide back up her thighs. He still hadn't opened his eyes but a grin was pulling at the corner of his lips.

Rory shook her head, pressing her lips to his cheek, "Faker."

His grin dropped, "Shh." He muttered, unmoving, "I'm sleeping."

"Uh-uh." She kissed down his neck.

"Mhmm." He wrapped his arms around her, twisting over and pulling her with him so they were side by side on the bed, facing each other. "Go to sleep." He held her still, still not opening his eyes.

Rory stayed unmoving for a moment, waiting to see how long it took him to get bored of sitting still. She looked over his face, relaxed but obviously awake and amused. Rory bit her lip, pressing back a grin as she pulled her arm free from his grasp, raising her hand to trace her fingertips lightly down the bridge of his nose, "_Tristan…_" she sang quietly, her fingers touching lightly over his lips and then his eyelids, "_Wake up…_"

He shook his head minutely.

Rory watched him affectionately, pressing her lips together. Her amusement slowly faded, "Tristan?" she whispered.

His eyes opened at the serious note in her voice but he said nothing, his gaze questioning.

"Why…" she bit her lip, looking down at her fingers as she traced them up his chest, "Why did you keep my brother alive?"

"What?"

She looked up at him, "He told me that when he was first caught, when he first saw you, he thought you were going to kill him. That you looked like you wanted to. But you didn't." Rory pushed herself up onto her elbow, looking down at him, "You hated my family and you wanted all of us dead but when you found him…" she trailed off, confused, "He isn't even in a dungeon. You gave him a house."

Tristan looked at her apprehensively for a stretch, his face tight, "What exactly are you asking me?"

"Why didn't you kill him?" she whispered.

He sighed heavily, nodding once. He pushed himself up as well. He rubbed a hand over his face, thinking, "When I saw your brother, we were seventeen. I was older than when I ordered your family destroyed. I could think clearer." He paused, looking over at her, "But I was still going to kill him. I'd planned to. There had been rumors that one of the Hayden children had escaped and I figured that he'd been caught-" he hitched his jaw towards her, "-that was part of the reason I was shocked to find out who you were. I thought the rumors were about him." Rory nodded but said nothing and he went on, "I was going to kill him, but then I saw him and we looked at each other and…" he trailed off, shaking his head, his gaze far off, "…and I realized that if things had gone differently he might have been my closest friend." Tristan's face tensed in disbelief, his gaze still cloudy, "I even realized that I could have been in his exact situation. The Hayden family goes back just as far as mine. Either of us could have been in those chains if things had gone even slightly differently in the past." He sighed, "I realized that I didn't even know what Christopher Hayden's children looked like and I never would. But I had the thought that I could have been the best of friends with his son. I might have fallen in love with one of his daughters…but I never would." Tristan fell quiet, chewing on the insides of his cheeks. He looked up at her, his brows furrowed, "I realized that he was the same as me."

Rory looked at him, lost for words. She literally could think of _nothing_ to say.

Tristan licked his lips, looking away from her, "After that I couldn't kill him. But I also couldn't let him go. So I had the cabin built on Logan's father's estate. There are three guards with him all the time, no windows that he could get out of. Originally it was to make sure he wouldn't escape but as of now…" Tristan shrugged, "I mean, if he asked I would probably let him go. I only kept him because if people knew that he'd survived…" he trailed off, shrugging one shoulder, "I don't know. I just couldn't kill him."

Rory looked at him in the silence that followed, her head tilting slightly as she watched him closely. It had been nearly a week since he'd first taken her to see her brother and she'd gone back nearly every day since. Tristan had gone with her once and she was still caught off guard by how informal Tristan and Richard were. She would almost venture to say that they were friends.

She bit her lip, shifting closer to him until their bodies were nearly touching and she could feel the heat from his chest through her slip. Her hand slid up to trail across his cheek warmly, coaxing his gaze to her face. He looked at her, his expression unreadable. She slid her leg around his waist, pulling herself closer against him. She shook her head lightly, almost distractedly, as she looked over his face, "You're so different." she whispered as if to herself, her face close to his.

His gaze sharpened slightly, his attention caught, "What?"

"You're so different." she repeated, trailing her fingertips lightly over his bottom lip, "You're nothing like people think. Nothing like _I_ thought." Her gaze brushed up to his, "But I guess you already knew that." she added quietly.

Tristan didn't respond immediately; he shifted, sitting up straight so that both her hand and leg slid off of him, "What did you think?"

Rory glanced down, shrugging lightly as she curled her leg back closer to herself, "I thought…" she bit her lip, "I thought you were cold. Cruel. Unchanging." She pressed her lips together, exhaling heavily through her nose, "I didn't think you were…" she trailed off, biting her lip, "I didn't think you were good and kind…and just…" she sighed, finally looking up at him, "Tristan, you're smart. And you're funny. And you're so much warmer and stronger than I ever could have imagined." She sat up slowly, her gaze steady on him. "I had no idea. You're so different than you seem."

His eyes tightened and he looked over at her as if unsure what to take from what she'd said. "I guess it's reasonable, you thinking that of me before."

"I don't anymore, though." She whispered, sliding onto his lap. Her arms wound around his neck, "You aren't." her lips touched his throat, attempting to make him relax. His body was tense below her, strained. Rory pulled back to look him in the eye, tracing her finger lightly down the center of his face. "You don't have to be like this, you know." she whispered.

"Like what?"

"Hard." she said quietly, but then she shook her head lightly, almost amused, "I mean, you do have to be, I know that. But not around me."

Tristan sighed, looking away from her as he raked a hand through his hair in frustration, though he didn't push her away, "Rory, can we not do this this morning?"

She ignored his question, resting her hand on his cheek, "I wish you wouldn't."

He licked his lips, looking back towards her, "_Rory_." his voice carried a gentle warning.

She caught his gaze, her head down innocently, "I'm serious."

Tristan shook his head, hands sliding over her hips, "I didn't think you were joking." he pulled her gently from his lap, setting her on the bed next to him. He kissed her forehead quickly, "But I have to get dressed." He turned and was almost off the bed when she wrapped her hand around his wrist. He turned halfway towards her, his expression unreadable though he didn't look at her, waiting for her to speak.

Rory pushed herself up onto her knees, bringing her body closer to his, "Tristan." she touched his face gently, turning it towards her, "I don't understand. It's like you're two different people, even with me."

He cut his eyes to hers, silent.

She went on, "Usually you're sweet and open and you laugh and hold me and kiss my neck." She bit her lip, shifting closer to him. Her voice became softer, "You look at me and I really see you…really see into you." She pressed her lips together, "But then other times you're cold and distant and you barely talk…" Rory broke her gaze from his, looking over his face. She traced her fingertips in the hollow under his eyes, "Other times you look at me and it's like they're stone. I can't see anything."

"What do you see now?" he asked, his voice quiet but not open.

Rory shook her head gently, "Nothing." she whispered, "But you're trying harder than usual." She tilted her head, "Why?"

Tristan bit the insides of his cheeks, his voice heavy, "Maybe it's getting harder to keep you out." His eyebrow arched, "Or maybe it's just because I'm tired."

She narrowed her eyes, caught between amusement and annoyance. After only a breath she closed the space between them, moving toward him as well as jerking him towards her, their lips meeting halfway. She kissed him deeply, her lips moving against his as her fingers slid up to tangle in his hair, pulling him down to the mattress on top of her. He fell above her heavily, catching most of his weight with his hands against the bed on either side of her. Then he slowly relaxed, his weight pressing solidly down on her like a blanket. His skin was warm against hers as she wrapped her leg around his hips, pulling him closer. She clenched her fingers in his hair and felt the shiver that ran down the length of his spine in response. He deepened the kiss for a moment, sliding his hand up her leg, before breaking his lips from hers.

His breathing wasn't heavy like she might have expected, nor were his eyes dark or his skin hot. The kiss hadn't gotten him worked up; instead it had calmed him, his chest rising and falling slowly and his gaze serious as he looked into her. He didn't say anything at first, his hand skimming slowly along her leg as he looked down at her, searching for words. After a stretch he spoke, his voice rough, "It's because I don't know what to think of _you_."

Her eyebrows drew together, surprised, "What?"

"It's like you're not really here." he whispered, his hand still tracing slowly over the bare skin of her thigh, "You say one thing but you mean another…you're afraid of what you feel." The muscles in his jaw flexed as if he were holding himself back, "I want to give you what you want, Rory…I want to give you _everything_ you want. But you won't tell me what that is."

She bit her lip, looking up at him through heavily lidded eyes. What did she want? Nothing that was in his power to give. He'd told her before that he had no control over his own life, and more than anything she wanted_ him_. Not like this, under bed sheets and behind closed doors; not only until he belonged to someone else. She knew he loved her. She knew he would do anything she asked. And she knew that eventually it could cost him everything. His advisors and friends didn't badger him about her because they genuinely cared for him and wanted him to be happy…but they wouldn't humor him forever. Soon they'd be pushing him to marry again, to find a suitable wife. No one would force him to give _her_ up. No one would make them part. They'd tell him to marry for politics and heirs but to keep her for as long as it pleased him. It wouldn't even be a bad situation for her; there was no shame in the king keeping a mistress and given the affection everyone knew he held for her, she would even be afforded some respect and position.

But she wouldn't do it. She wouldn't do it for his sake. Tristan, for all his indiscretions in the past, was still a lover; she wouldn't ask him to do that, to tear himself in half and be a father to his children while he betrayed their mother over and over again by coming to her bed. She wasn't humble enough to deny that Tristan would come to her regardless of whether or not he was married to someone else. She wasn't modest enough to pretend that she didn't make him weak and hold a control over him that no one else could hope to touch. But that only made it worse. She wouldn't ask him to stay with her despite the fact that he owed himself to another; he would undoubtedly oblige her…and it would destroy him.

She wouldn't do it for herself. However much she may want him, there was no getting around the fact that he could never be completely hers. And she would have been lying if she said that she could live with that. Tristan was the first person she'd ever felt the right to…like she owned him. She could never share him, never take second place to someone else even if it were just a façade. Though giving him up might possibly make her wish she were dead, she knew it would be better than living out her life as his concubine.

But more than anything, more than her concern for him or her respect for herself, she wouldn't do it for her children…the children that would unavoidably be born from their unending affair. It wouldn't be fair to them. How could she possibly explain to her children that their half-siblings got to wear crowns and inherit thrones and spend as much time with Tristan as they wanted, but they had to be content with a normal life and as much time as their father could spare? How could she possibly justify to her children that the same blood that made Tristan's children from his wife royalty, made them bastards? How do you explain to a child that yes, their parents love each other and their father loves them, but he has another family that take precedence over them? Nothing could justify that. Ever. When that came into account it didn't matter how much Tristan loved her or how much she needed him. She would _never_ subject her children to that. And even worse for the children that would be born of his wife.

If she knew anything about Tristan it was that he wanted to be a father, and because of his love for her, he would undoubtedly love the children of her body more than the children borne to him from a wife he never wanted. It wasn't that he wouldn't love all of his children; he would. Beyond a doubt, he would. But she knew that he wouldn't feel the same towards them, and how painful for a child to know that his father never wanted his mother, but loves the mistress he keeps? How could you tell a child that they had to suffer for something they had nothing to do with? That they had to be second rate because the law forbade their parents from marrying and demanded that their father take a different wife?

No. She wouldn't do that. She wouldn't punish her children. She wouldn't put Tristan through the stress and pain of having two families, the one he loved more subordinate to the other simply because he was forced into a marriage he never wanted.

Rory sighed quietly, sliding her hand down to his cheek, "I only want you." she whispered. He was playing deep. She would too. Normally when he spoke like this all she could do was listen and stare at him in awe. But she knew now that she owed him more than that.

Tristan shook his head, "You have that. You have it a thousand times over, but it still isn't enough. Why isn't it enough?"

She traced her finger lightly across his bottom lip, her eyes glued to the motion, "I don't have that." Her voice was barely a whisper, "I can never have it, because you aren't your own to give."

She felt him swallow hard as if forcing down painful medicine. He kissed the finger that trailed over his lips, "Everything that I have to give is yours." Her gaze swept up to meet his. He leaned down, pressing his lips to her cheekbone gently, his voice a whisper across her skin, "Everything I am belongs to you." Rory felt her eyelids flutter, her breath hitching. He pulled back fractionally to look her in the eye, "Heaven and Hell couldn't tear me from you, Rory. So why are you so afraid?"

Rory closed her eyes to stop the tears that pushed at the back of her eyes. She pressed her forehead to his, breathing him in deeply. She savored the warmth of his body over hers. When she spoke her voice was thick, "Because Heaven and Hell aren't the ones trying to take you away from me."

"Hey." he whispered, touching her jawline lightly to get her attention. She looked up at him, her eyes shining. He shook his head fractionally, "What is this about?"

She shook her head, closing her eyes again and turning her face from him, "It's everyone else."

"Rory." his voice was gentle as he pushed himself off of her to sit up. He pulled her up to sit in his lap. His touch brushed against her cheek but she refused to open her eyes. "Hey, look at me." She reluctantly obeyed. Tristan titled his head towards her, concerned, "Talk to me."

She bit her lip, her face pale, "Tristan." she closed her eyes momentarily, shaking her head, "We're kidding ourselves. You can't control what's going to happen in your life. This can never go anywhere but here." her fingers trailed down his arm to brush across the sheet.

Tristan looked over her face, his forehead tensed in concern. "Hey," he whispered after a moment, running his fingers through her hair soothingly. "I would do anything for you…do you know that?"

Rory pressed her lips together painfully as she felt a tear break free and trail slowly down her cheek. Neither of them moved to wipe it away. She nodded, unable to speak for a moment. He nodded back, his gaze locked onto hers. "I know," she said quietly, her face close to his, "I know."

**

Rory walked into the dining hall later that morning, draped in a warm orange dress, a small plait running along her hairline to keep it out of her face while most of it tumbled down her back in loose waves. She made her way to the table where Tristan and Max sat, conversing quietly over half-eaten but forgotten meals. Upon catching sight of her they both stood politely, Tristan pulling her chair out for her. She thanked him and sat down as he slid the chair back up to the table for her. He motioned for food to be brought to her and sat back down, continuing his discussion with Max. It was something to do with the cloth they imported from Koral. She didn't listen closely but gazed out of the window to the heavy snow falling outside.

Two servants approached, one holding a plate of food and a glass for her; the other carrying a sealed letter. The first set her food down and left. She paid no attention to the other, assuming the letter was for Tristan, and reached to take a drink from her glass. The servant stood between her and Tristan, bowing slightly, "Milady."

Rory look up, surprised. Tristan did as well, glancing between her and the servant. He held the letter out to her and she took it slowly, her food forgotten. The servant bowed to Tristan before backing away from them. The servant was ignored, the king's attention solely on her. She looked down at the letter, sealed with wax, uncertain of who it could be from. She glanced up at Tristan, who still watched her curiously. She shrugged one shoulder at him, showing her confusion as well, before breaking the seal and sliding the letter open. It wasn't especially long, though it wasn't short. She read it through once quickly and then again slower.

Rory chewed on her bottom lip, her gaze resting at the signature at the bottom. She could feel Tristan's gaze on her. She inhaled deeply and then exhaled slowly, trying to push down the hollow feeling that began to stir in her chest. After a moment she looked up, her expression carefully controlled. Tristan's eyebrows drew together in concern, his attention never having left her. She smiled lightly, "It's from Lane."

"You friend back in Stars Hollow?" he asked. She nodded, folding the letter back to its original state. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes." Rory blinked quickly, pushing back the sudden longing for Lane and Jess and Luke and Rachel that washed over her. "She's getting married a week after Christmas." She let out a controlled breath before looking back up towards Tristan, "Dave asked her right before I came here but they've had a few setbacks." Rory set the letter next to her plate, folding her hands in her lap anxiously, "I guess it's finally happening though."

She tried to keep the pain out of her voice but didn't seem to have succeeded. Tristan still watched her, his gaze questioning and his face drawn with concern for her. She bit her lip, breaking her eyes from his to stop him from seeing any more. Instantly his hand was on her face, warm and comforting; he raised her gaze back to his and tilted his head towards her questioningly. "Are you going to be alright?" he asked quietly enough that only she could hear, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip.

Rory nodded, unable to speak, and gave him a weak smile. She turned her face into his palm, kissing the inside of his wrist thankfully. His face didn't soften, but regarded her with as much concern as before as he slowly pulled his hand back from her face, his fingertips trailing along her skin.

~*~

Tristan stood with Max, watching the new and old guard several hundred yards off. Logan had just finished his speech to the men and Tristan's eyes were glued to Rory as she and Logan faced each other at the front of the crowd, preparing to fight in an effort to demonstrate how they wanted the men to. Both of their sword arms swung free, their weaker hands gripping the hilts. A lot of the newer men still had trouble fighting as well with their weaker arm. He was almost worried that she would get hurt, but knew she wouldn't.

Mitchum had come to him the day before and explained that the new guard was practically done with their training. ..certainly past the point where Leigh's swordsmanship was still a necessity. Tristan had smiled at the name when Mitchum used it, not used to hearing it any longer. But his amusement at the name hadn't blocked his mind from what his uncle had said. Rory wasn't needed with the guard any longer and soon the men would start to realize it, that is if they hadn't already.

That was what he thought of now, watching them from one of the windows in the castle as Rory skipped away from Logan, doing some type of elegant twist he didn't think he'd ever be capable of. He leaned against the window sill, eyes narrowed in thought. Max watched him uncertainly, fidgeting, as he tended to do. Tristan had called him here and then just stared resolutely out of the window, lost in his own mind.

His advisor stepped forward hesitantly, holding up a finger, "Ah, Tristan, my lord?"

"Hmm?" he muttered, not breaking his gaze from the training field.

"The Christmas Eve Ball is in three days and I just wanted to-"

"Max." Tristan, obviously not listening, cut him off mid-sentence.

He almost rolled his eyes. As it was he sighed laboriously, his shoulders slumping "Yes, my lord?"

Tristan sighed, oblivious to the tired note in his advisor's voice as he turned to face him, "What do you think Rory thinks?"

Max's forehead creased, confused, "What?"

"About this." Tristan clarified, "Do you think she thinks…do you think she feels like she has to be here? Like she can't leave?"

Max watched him for a stretch, his expression calculating.

"Tell me honestly." Tristan insisted.

"Honestly, your highness?" he shrugged one shoulder helplessly, "I think that's probably exactly how she feels."

Tristan nodded resolutely. He'd thought the same, but had hoped he was wrong. "Do you think she feels like a prisoner?"

Max shook his head, "I don't think she _dislikes_ being here at all, Tristan."

"That's not what I asked." he replied softly.

Max crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall as he regarded the young man before him. It was a moment before he spoke, his voice quiet, "What are you getting at, Tristan?"

The king bit the insides of his cheeks, glancing down, "The new guard is nearly done with their training. She's been here six months…I can't very well pretend that they still need her." He fell silent, his gaze intent on the stone under their feet as he tried to form his thoughts, "I want her to stay here, Max, almost more than I can stand…but once their training is completely finished…what will she be?" he looked up at his advisor who, over the course of his adolescence, had become much more than simply that. Max was the closest he had to a father figure now and though he didn't always express it, his opinions and thoughts held more weight over Tristan than anyone else's; not because he was his advisor, but because he was more. Not quite a father, not a friend, but something in between. Max knew him better than almost anyone, he'd seen Tristan grow up from a perspective that no one else had. That was why he trusted him more than nearly anyone else.

Max didn't answer at first, just looked at Tristan sadly, lost for an answer.

Tristan went on, "She'd be my _mistress_, Max." he spat the word as if it were vile, "People know about her and I now, and I don't care…" he shook his head, his voice bitter, "I would care for her, for what they say about her, but she told me from the beginning that she didn't care what they said and I didn't have the strength to turn her away." Tristan shook his head, looking away from Max as he pushed himself off of the window sill, "And I don't know, maybe it actually doesn't bother her. But she also has a legitimate reason for staying here. Once that reason is gone…once their training is done…" he trailed off before inhaling deeply, "She has no reason to stay. And we all know it. My wants, my selfish desires, would be the only thing making her stay here. She'd be my mistress, staying on only for me to entertain myself with…that's how everyone would see it, at least. That's all people think this is with me and her…_sex_." he scoffed as if disgusted by the very act. He clenched his jaw, balling his hands into fists at his sides to calm himself down. His hands shook, "I would never do that to her." he said finally, exhaling slowly, "I would never make that into what she was. She says she doesn't care what they say about her, and by now I think it's probably not as bad as it was in the beginning, but if she stays once they're done and she isn't needed as a trainer anymore…Max," he looked over at the advisor, his face torn, "Max, I can't let that happen to her. Do you know what people would say about her? What they'd call her?"

Max looked down, suddenly unable to look Tristan in the eye. Yes, he knew. And although Tristan made a valiant effort to keep the pain out of his voice, it shone through. His voice had actually cracked. Max couldn't remember ever hearing Tristan's voice crack.

"She says she doesn't care, but I do. I care what they say about her…how they make her feel. I love-" Max's face snapped up and Tristan stopped himself, swearing darkly under his breath as he twisted away from the other man, scrubbing his hands through his hair in frustration. "I won't let that happen to her."

Max watched Tristan, his expression guarded, "And you asked me if I thought she felt trapped because…" he trailed off questioningly.

"Because," Tristan turned back to face him, "It's an important factor in what decision I make."

"About what?"

Tristan rubbed his face tiredly, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, "About _her_."

Max didn't respond at first, watching Tristan in concern. "How long will it be until their training is finished? Until she's no longer needed?"

Tristan stopped rubbing his eyes but kept his hands there, stilling as he heard Max's question. He answered, his voice distorted, "They'll finish training a few weeks after Christmas. But they're already passed needing her."

"Oh." Max whispered, not having suspected that. His mind, initially having spun with ideas of how to help Tristan, shut down. There didn't seem to be anything _to_ be done for it.

Tristan pulled his hands from his eyes and the skin was red and irritated from being pressed so hard. He looked at Max pleadingly, "I don't know what to do." He exhaled shakily, "Advise me, help me…_please_."

Max felt something in his chest crumble. He had never, in all the years he'd watched Tristan, seen him helpless. Never seen him so torn. He laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder supportively, "You really love her?"

Tristan looked up at him from underneath heavy eyelids, unable to bring himself to say the words. But he didn't have to.

Max nodded once, his voice gentle, "She _is_ of noble blood, Tristan."

He jerked away, his expression black, "Of course I've thought of that. You know I wouldn't come to you if it were that simple."

"What's the problem with it?"

Tristan sighed heavily, his head falling back, as if the question itself tired him, "She feels trapped, Max." he rolled his head around to look at him, "I'm not saying she doesn't care for me. She does, I know that. And I'm not saying she doesn't want to be with me. I'm nearly positive she wants that as well." He leaned towards his advisor and Max could see the bags under his eyes…evidence of sleepless nights, "What I'm saying is she doesn't know what she's _allowed_ to want. I want her, yes, so much sometimes it's like things are crawling under my skin when I'm not with her. And she wants me, yes. But does she want to marry me? Does she really want all of this?" he motioned at the castle around them, "How could I ever know? If I asked her to marry me then of course she would say yes, but would it be because she thinks she doesn't have the right to say no?"

"Tristan." Max stepped closer to him, gripping his shoulder again, this time to get his attention, "Any young woman would be ecstatic to marry you."

Tristan looked at him evenly, "The king."

"Yes." Max nodded, squeezing Tristan's shoulder as if glad that he'd gotten through to him.

"I don't want her to marry the king!" he yelled, his face hardening as he jerked away from Max, "I don't care that any girl would be more than happy to marry the king. I don't care that any girl would do it without a second's hesitation. I don't want her to marry me because I'm the king. I don't want her to be _honored_ to be with me, I want her to _want_ to be with me." He twisted away from Max, pressing his hands into his hair, clenching it in his fingers, "But if what she _wants_ is to go home…she'd never tell me." he whispered the last, his voice hoarse.

They fell into silence, Max watching Tristan as he pressed his hands against the stone wall, dropping his head tiredly. He opened his mouth hesitantly, tilting his head, "My lord, if I may speak?"

Tristan looked up at him, surprised, "Of course."

"You may not like what I have to say."

Tristan nodded once, his expression wary, "Alright. Go on."

"We all love Leigh-" he caught himself, "-Rory. We all enjoy having her here. We are all encouraged by the change she'd wrought in you. But Tristan…" he sighed heavily, shaking his head minutely, "she meant so much to you while she was here training the men…and maybe she should stay with their training. In the past." Tristan's gaze sharpened, his eyes snapping, but he stayed silent, allowing Max to go on. "If you won't marry her, which, in all honesty, I wouldn't recommend in the first place, then you'll have to marry someone else. And soon."

Tristan rubbed his chin tiredly, "Someone else?"

"Yes." Max nodded towards him, "You're twenty-two Tristan. You should have married long ago. Think about it, though, if you don't keep Rory in the past then how is this going to turn out? Even if you do find some other role for her to fill…she'll always be seen as your who-mistress." he froze.

Silence engulfed them, suffocating and thick as high summer heat. Tristan's gaze became stone. His hand slowly slid from his chin, his entire body tight and controlled. He stared at Max and cold, searing rage started to slide under his skin. It worked his way from his stomach up through his chest and arms and down his legs until every inch of him vibrated with it and it found its only outlet…his eyes, fixed on Max, where it swirled. He saw the shock on Max's face, mirroring his own. But his shock was drowned out by the fury pounding in his head. Every muscle in his body had tensed; his teeth were clenched so hard his jaw was already starting to ache. He balled his hands into fists at his side to stop them from shaking. "Whore?" his voice was soft.

Max flinched as if Tristan had struck him. He shook his head, opening his mouth to give an explanation, but none came.

Tristan's lower jaw flexed, his fingernails biting into the palms of his hands. Of everyone, Max was the last person he had ever expected something like that from. "_Whore?_" he repeated, his voice quieter than the first. "Is _that_ what you were going to say? _My whore?_"

Max still shook his head, his eyes wide at the king's betrayed look, "No, Tristan, no. I didn't-"

"_You_." Tristan growled, his eyes snapping, "You are the one who _sent_ her to me. You think I don't know that? You think I don't know that you told her to get close to me so that I wouldn't do anything rash on the anniversary of my father's death? And even after that you sent her to my bed on specific occasions to placate me and calm me. You think I don't _know_ that?"

Max shook his head, holding his hands up in surrender, "Tristan, I swear, I didn't mean-"

He acted as if he hadn't spoken, "You are the one who fueled this the entire time and now you have the _nerve_ to call her whore?"

Max spoke quickly, his voice soothing, "Tristan, you know I don't think that. It slipped out. I-"

Tristan cut him off menacingly, "Slipped out? Things like that don't just _slip out_, Medina!"

"Tristan, you know I care about Rory. You know I don't think that of her."

"Then how did you say it?" he growled, "Is that how you refer to her when you aren't talking to me?"

Max's shoulders fell, looking over at the young king sadly, "Of course not, Tristan. _I _have never called her that."

Tristan's eyes didn't soften, but his expression changed at Max's emphasis on the 'I', "Others, though?" it wasn't asked in a way that expected an answer. Max looked down. That was answer enough. Tristan closed his eyes, pained, "And not just servants?"

Max refused to meet his gaze.

Tristan sighed tiredly, pressing the heels of his hands back to his eyes as if he could erase it all from his memory, "Would it even make a difference at this point? Would any of it change no matter what I do?"

Max's voice was soft when he spoke, repentant, "The past wouldn't change…there's nothing you can do about that. But Rory still has a future. If you really want to do what's best for her, then _that_ is what you need to think about when you make your choice."

~*~

Tristan came to bed late that night, having paced around the castle for hours trying to figure out what to do about Rory. Max was right, of course, she had her own future. But he wanted it with him.

He entered the room quietly to find that Rory was already asleep, curled up like a cat on her side of the bed, clutching his favorite pillow to her chest. Light from the fire in the hearth played off of her skin, making it glow and dance as he moved closer to watch her. She breathed evenly, her face relaxed and her hair coating her pillow in a wave of silk. It smelled like wildflowers. For the love of God, he would never be able to get that scent out of his sheets and clothes.

He turned to change and caught sight of Duke, Rory's mastiff puppy, curled on the floor in front of the hearth. He was staring at Tristan, barely awake with his head resting on his paws, his tail thumping the ground heavily as it wagged at the sight of him. The dog was only a few months old but already did whatever Rory commanded it to, ignoring everyone else. Sometimes it listened to him because it saw the way Rory treated him. Sometimes the dog followed him when he left the room in the mornings and it would go with him to his study, curling up by the fire or sleeping next to his chair as he worked. It would bark and growl if anyone approached the door; already it stood between him and people he came into contact with, meaning to protect him. Sometimes when he'd been working so long he thought his head would cave in, the dog would suddenly jump into his lap and try to lick his neck, whining if he didn't pay attention to it.

He even liked _her dog_. What was happening to him?

He slid out of the clothes he'd worn that day and slipped on a loose pair of cotton sleeping pants, ruffling his hands through his hair anxiously as he came closer to the bed. He could still hear Max's voice in his head, telling him that Rory felt trapped; that she had her own future. He pulled the covers back and slid into the bed, trying not to jostle Rory in her sleep. Apparently it didn't work, though. As he relaxed down into the mattress she turned over without opening her eyes and buried her face against his arm, wrapping her arm around his chest and snuggling closer to him. He smiled down at her sleeping form, overwhelmed by his affection for her, and slipped his arm around her.

Her eyes opened thickly and she tilted her face towards his, "Did you finish your work?" she asked, her voice deep with sleep.

"Never." he kissed her forehead tenderly, his voice soft, "But there's always tomorrow."

Rory slid up his body so that they were even, their heads on the same pillow, "Yeah, but aren't you supposed to be doing things for the Christmas Eve Ball?"

"No." the hand that wasn't holding her against his side slid across his body to wrap behind her upper thigh, bringing her leg to wrap warmly around his waist. He turned his face towards her, close in the firelight. His fingers skimmed up the back of her thigh and then down, where they traced along to the front of her leg to slide up her inner thigh where they ventured dangerously high. His gaze snapped up to hers, "Why do you ask?"

Rory shivered. And not one of the small, excited ones, either. It was deep and she didn't even try to push it back; it was a shiver that came from knowing what Tristan's light, almost innocent touch meant and knowing where that touch was going to lead them. It wasn't excitement she felt; it was a slow, burning anticipation…a need within her that he both awakened and satisfied. She bit her lip, her gaze raising to his, "Why?" she asked, her voice light, unfocused, "I don't know. I guess because so many people will be there. From all over. It could become a madhouse…" She kept rambling but Tristan's hand stilled. It had been in the process of sliding under her skirt, his entire body now aching to feel her like only he knew. But now it stopped, only a breath from its destination. His eyebrows drew together and Rory let out a shaking breath, her hand flexing on his chest, "What?"

He gave no answer, but looked at her curiously, his mind working. He felt her shiver again, her body pressing against his unconsciously. A madhouse? Rory blinked rapidly, watching his expression as if she could see into his mind. She was torn between asking him what he was talking about again and climbing on top of him. That much _he_ could see in _her_. A madhouse.

"_Tristan_." she whispered finally.

His gaze focused sharply on hers, his expression unreadable. _A madhouse._ His hand came from her leg to wrap around the side of her face roughly, his fingers tangling in her hair as his lips descended onto hers. He kissed her deeply, possessively, as he pushed her back onto the mattress and lowered himself on top of her. Though it surprised her she reacted instantly and enthusiastically, her arms coming to wrap around him. But they never made it. He caught her wrists in mid-air, never breaking or lightening the pressure of his mouth on hers, and pressed them down to the bed on either side of her head, lacing his fingers with hers.

Rory would have gasped but her mouth was otherwise engaged, and so she inhaled deeply through her nose, her chest arching into Tristan's. He broke his lips from hers to trail them down her neck to her shoulder and her legs reflexively locked around his hips, pulling him closer to her.

He released one of her hands so that his could trail down the side of her body, running over every curve and dip until he came to her leg, which he pulled away from his side. A small sound of protest bled from Rory's lips but instantly his had released her neck and covered hers once more, swallowing the sound as he spread her legs wider. He sucked her bottom lip between his, scraping his teeth over the sensitive skin as she arched into him again, her whimpers no longer of protest.

Tristan felt himself grin against her lips. To make her cry out. To make her scream. To make her melt beneath him. To see the way she looked at him when she woke up curled against him. To feel her around him and under him and raking her nails down his back, her skin slick and hot against his. To feel her, warm and strong and solid, her head on his chest as they fell asleep, laughing and whispering as her fingernails traced patterns across his chest. The way he felt weight slide from his shoulders when she entered a room. The way she could look at him and know what he was thinking without either of them saying a word. How she was able to calm him, comfort him without having to say anything. Those were the things that were real. Those were the things he would…miss.

Because he knew now what he had to do.

~*~

Rory looked at herself in the mirror as Anna plaited her hair, twisting sections of it into a series of tiny, elegant, flowing braids woven throughout the majority of it, which was left down in waves. She'd told Anna that on this one occasion she would wear powder and rouge and the old woman had nearly fainted from shock. Rory had laughed at her but it had been quickly cut off, seeing as she'd been laughing at the woman who was lacing up her corset. She was already in a tight fitting slip as well as a separate corset much tighter than she usually wore, but her designated dress for that evening was much tighter than she usually wore as well. She glanced over at the dress she was to wear to the Christmas Eve banquet and subsequent ball; it was full skirted with a low neckline, tight bodice, and long sleeves. It was dark red and velvety to the touch, trimmed in gold and accented with cream. She'd heard tale that it was made to match what Tristan was wearing. The ball was starting…now, actually. She was going to be late. There had been an issue earlier, Anna had somehow managed to tear the corset Rory was originally to wear…after she'd put it on and laced it completely up. A feat that took ages. And then Anna had insisted they take it off just as slowly so as not to damage it farther so that she could repair it.

Anna finished her hair and stood back, looking her over for a minute, "You don't need powder, not with how dark that dress is. But rouge on your cheeks will bring out your eyes."

Rory just nodded, glancing at her hair in the mirror, "Okay."

Anna reached for the container that held the rouge but before she'd even touched it there was a quiet knock on the door. "Ah." She pulled her hand back and turned towards the door, speaking in response to Rory's confused look, "That must be the girl to help me get your dress on. That's a feat, that is. We can't do it with just you and me."

Rory said nothing but leaned over, trying to get a look at the doorway around Anna. The maid opened it only a sliver. She had a brief, hushed conversation with the person on the other side before pulling it completely open. To Rory's unparalleled shock it was Logan who stepped into the room. He held a pack under one arm and a bundle of clothes under the other. If it had been any man but him, and Tristan, of course, she would have blushed and felt the need to throw something over herself to shield her undergarments; as it was she just stood sharply, effectively exposing more of herself, "Logan?"

He looked over at her, "Hey."

She shook her head lightly, looking him over. He was dressed for the party in a dark green shirt and pants tucked into heavy brown boots. She eyed the bundles in his arms, "What are you doing?"

Logan glanced over at Anna, "Sorry to interrupt you." He turned back to Rory and came closer to her, holding the clothes towards her, "These are for you. You won't be needing that corset."

Rory stared at the dress and cloak he held out towards her, not moving to take them. Her eyebrows drew together, "No, I don't think that outfit will go over well at the banquet."

He sighed, holding them closer to her, "Come on, we don't have much time. Just put them on and I'll explain on the way."

She clicked her tongue, "Logan Huntzburger, last time I followed you somewhere without knowing where I was going I landed in the East Tower. Start talking."

"Here, you change and I'll talk." He threw the clothes to her and she caught them reflexively.

She looked up at him, nodding Anna in the direction of the changing screen to help her get out of her corset. She followed the maid behind it, glancing at Logan before she disappeared, "Go."

"You aren't going to the banquet." He started simply.

"Since when?" she asked through the screen. Anna had already started undoing her corset in the back, her hands much faster than they had been before. She could hear Logan walking around the room.

"You're going to be joining your brother."

"Oh yeah, in the cottage of seclusion?" she asked sarcastically, her voice waving as her body rocked with Anna's steady and solid rhythm, already halfway done unlacing the corset. She'd been stalling before. She'd probably even ripped the first one on purpose.

"No." he said quietly, his voice close.

"Then where?" she asked.

No response. She looked down to the dress he'd brought her. It was dark brown trimmed in lighter brown, thick and warm and sturdy though fitted with a tight bodice and long sleeves. And a thick riding cloak. She turned back to the screen as Anna pulled the leather strap completely from her corset, allowing it to fall off her body. She hadn't even taken a breath before the maid threw the other dress over her head and started lacing up the back. Something solid soared around the side of the screen and thunked heavily to the floor next to her. She jumped, surprised, and glanced down to see that Logan had thrown a pair of sturdy riding boots to her. She slid her already stocking-ed legs into them, waiting for Anna to finish securing her dress before she leaned over to tie the boots that covered her entire leg up to the knee. She was done in a matter of moments and stepped out from behind the screen to see that Logan was shuffling his feet, staring at the ground.

She came to stand next to him, tilting her head, "What's going on?"

He turned to look at her sharply, as if he hadn't realized she'd come out. He didn't speak for a moment. Then his lip quirked in a ghost of his usual humor, "I don't think I've ever seen a woman get dressed so fast."

Rory ignored his attempt at humor, "Logan." He said nothing. She crossed her arms over her chest, "Where am I going? Does Tristan know about this?"

Logan sighed heavily, picking up the cloak she'd thrown on the vanity chair and securing it around her shoulders, "Come on." He grabbed the pack and reached his other hand out as if to guide her along but he stopped, his hand frozen in mid-air. He glanced over at Anna.

The maid nodded gently, her eyes cutting to Rory for a moment before she came closer to them. She touched Rory's arm gently and leaned in to kiss her forehead, whispering something in a different language before pulling back. It sounded like a prayer.

With that Logan's hand was on the small of her back and she was whisked from the room, the door slamming shut behind them. She looked over at him, "Did Anna really just kiss me?"

"That's what it looked like to me." He answered without looking at her, a pent up sense of urgency pushing them along.

"Okay then, now I'm worried." She dug her heels in, forcing him to stop.

He swore quietly, turning, "Leigh, we don't have time for this."

"Why won't you tell me what's going on?"

"Because I knew you'd want to stop and talk and we don't have time." He said anxiously, tugging on her arm.

"Tell me and we'll keep going."

Logan looked at her, sighing, "He's sending you back."

Her eyes narrowed fractionally. She shook her head lightly, confused, "What?"

"Come on." His hand was once again on her back, propelling her forward. He went on, "Tristan. He's sending you and your brother to Stars Hollow. He's letting you go."

Rory opened her mouth but no sound emerged. Her mind was still working to catch up, "What?"

Logan glanced back at her but didn't stop walking, "Tristan is sending you and Richard to Stars Hollow. You'll both be free. He thought you should go during the banquet because everyone will be so preoccupied with the celebration the guard is less likely to notice you two leaving from the stables-"

Rory froze.

Logan took a few hurried steps before he realized she wasn't with him anymore. He turned back to her, annoyed, "What is it?"

She didn't answer…didn't even see him. It was as if she were falling. _A madhouse_. That was why Tristan had looked at her like that.

"Rory." Logan grabbed her arm, towing her forward, "We don't have time, come on. No one knows that Richard exists, so there wasn't really any other way to get the two of you out."

"To Stars Hollow?" she asked slowly, coming out of a daze.

"Yes."

"Me and my brother? He's letting him go too? Why?"

Logan shook his head, pulling her down a side corridor, "I don't know, Leigh. I guess he feels like it's better than letting him live out his life alone in that house."

She didn't say anything else but just followed him, her mind still too muddled to really process what was happening. She was torn, her mind warring over whether to focus on the fact that she and her brother would be together or the fact that she was leaving Tristan. That he was letting her go.

Logan brought her to a corridor that eventually led outside of the castle in the back, a seldom used servant's pass. "Here." he pulled her down it, grabbing a torch from the wall. Rory caught sight of two men in the darkness, one in party dress and the other in a riding cloak like hers. "_Max_!" Logan called softly, guiding her towards them. They came forward as well.

Richard's features melted from the darkness and she saw that he was beaming, his eyes dancing. "_Rory_!" he grabbed her shoulders, holding them tight, "Can you believe it? We're free. We're together! We can start new."

She smiled weakly, wanting to feel his enthusiasm. And part of her did. "I…" she trailed off, biting her lip. She was going to be with him, after all this time. After he'd been dead. But having her brother back, _really_ having him back, meant she'd lose Tristan. _He was letting her go_. "I…" started again quietly and broke off. All three of the men looked at her, waiting for her to go on. She sighed, looking at Logan, "I need to talk to Tristan."

Logan shook his head, "He's in the banquet."

She nodded, "I know, I know that. But Logan, I have to…" she didn't finish, unsure of what she would say.

He still shook his head, "Leigh, I wish you could but there's no way we can get the king to leave the banquet as soon as it starts-"

She cut him off, "I'll go in myself."

His head cocked back, "What?"

"I have to talk to him and if you don't go get him out I'll go in and see to him there." He said nothing and she sighed, grabbing his shoulders to push her point, "Logan, I'm serious."

He sighed heavily, muttering darkly, "Fine. Let's go." He took off down the hall at a rapid pace, his footsteps heavy.

Richard walked with her, speaking quietly, "Why do you need to talk to Tristan?" She shot him a look but said nothing. He licked his lips, going on, "Come on Ror, do you really think this is the time to risk making him mad?"

"He won't be mad." She whispered back confidently, jogging up to come even with Logan.

He slowed suddenly, stopping behind a large hanging tapestry. The wall next to them was solid stone, just like the rest of the castle, but this one had gaps where the stone was removed and the space was covered by a series of thick tapestries for servants to go in and out of. The hall they were in connected to several others leading back to the kitchen, making it easier for the help to move around. Rory could hear background music and the sounds of a large crowd on the other side of the tapestry. It was the main banquet hall. She'd seen it before but had never eaten there. After dinner the celebration would move to the adjacent ballroom. Part of her was sad that she would miss it.

Logan stood still, staring at the tapestry as if he could see through it. They stayed like that for a stretch, Richard and Max having caught up with them. The other three just stared at Logan. Finally he exhaled lightly, his forehead scrunched in thought, "I probably should have told you before." He spoke quietly and didn't look at her, but Rory knew he was talking to her, "Part of the reason that Tristan wanted it done this way is because he doesn't do goodbyes." He glanced over at her, speaking so quietly she doubted Max and Richard could hear, "You remember what I told you about you and him? You're the only one he's afraid of losing, Leigh. And now he has. He's letting you go so you can have a better life and in doing that he's losing you and it's his own fault." His eyes were solid on hers, burning, "He doesn't do goodbyes with anyone. I don't think he could stand the thought of _watching_ you walk away."

Rory's jaw dropped, speechless. She wanted to say something but nothing came, and before she could form a thought Logan had darted around the tapestry and he was gone. She bit her lip, turning away from the hanging barrier. Max and Richard were watching her, both obviously curious as to what she and Logan had been saying. She noticed that her brother was holding the bag Logan had brought her, both of them slung over his shoulder. Max held the torch Logan had grabbed. She turned away from them as well, wrapping her cloak tightly around her. She sensed movement behind her and whipped around to see Logan ducking back through the tapestry, followed closely by Tristan.

Her breath hitched at the sight of him, probably from the realization that this might be the last time she would see him. Their clothes _had_ been made to match. He wore a red dress shirt of the same shade and material of hers, trimmed in gold and tailored to fit him perfectly, his pants were cream and tucked into heavy black boots. Her gaze trailed back up to his face to see that he was watching her expectantly, his expression guarded.

Rory bit her lip, looking up at him, "What-" she broke off, pressing her lips together as she glanced over to see that Max, Logan, and Richard were all watching them intently. She grabbed his arm and pulled him further down the hall so that they were out of earshot. She turned to face him, "What is this?"

He shook his head, "Didn't Logan tell you?" She didn't answer but just pressed her lips together, staring up at him expectantly. He stared back at her for a stretch, neither of them speaking. Slowly she saw him cave, his shoulder falling. His hand came to trace the tips of his fingers along one of the braids that ran behind her ear, "I like your hair." he said quietly, distractedly.

"Thank you."

His eyes shifted to hers. He brushed his thumb across her bottom lip gently, his voice soft, "Go to your friend's wedding, Rory. Go back to your family. You never have to fear anything again. Your family name is safe now."

She felt her eyelids flutter, "Tristan-"

He cut her off, his other hand coming to twist a lock of her hair lightly around his fingers, "Your brother is restored to you and I swear, nothing that is in my power to do or prevent will ever separate you again, I've given back the things that I could from what I took." He leaned down to brush his lips gently against hers, his expression still carefully guarded, "It's time to go home."

She shook her head, her eyes narrowing in confusion, "Why didn't you talk to me? You've been planning this…Logan said that you wanted it during the banquet because no one would notice us leaving. You had to have known for days. Why didn't you tell me?" she asked.

Tristan sighed, "Rory…"

"Why?" she repeated, her voice cracking.

He dropped his head to look her in the eye, his fingers coming to tuck under her chin, "Rory, I can't--I can't have this conversation. It's too hard. Don't you see that?"

"You should have told me." She whispered, her shoulders falling.

"Don't you want to go back?"

She bit her lip, looking up at him for a moment before speaking, "…yes, of course I do, but-"

He put a finger over her lips, cutting her off at _but, _"Then go." He whispered.

Rory stared up at him for a moment in silence, unresponsive, before she threw her arms around his shoulders, burying her face in his neck. She felt his shock reverberate through him for a moment before his arms came around her, slowly pulling her against him until he couldn't hold her any tighter. She felt one of his arms around her, his other hand held the back of her head comfortingly. His face was turned into her hair, breathing her in. "_Thank you_." She whispered against his skin, "_Thank you, thank you, thank you_." She tightened her grip on him, clutching the back of his shirt in her hands. She wanted to say more. 'Thank you' wasn't what she'd meant but her voice refused to let anything else out.

He loosened his grip on her, starting to pull away, but when she lifted her head from his shoulder her lips connected to his as if of their own will. She kissed him hard and deep, fusing her lips against his and pressing her body into his and she didn't care that Logan, Max, and her brother were all down the hall watching them. She kissed him like she needed him to breathe, to feel, to live. And she wondered, now, after losing him, how she would be able to do any of it. It was there in the middle of a servant's corridor right outside of the Christmas Eve banquet; standing on her tip toes, Tristan's arm wound tightly around her and pressing into her back so hard it hurt, his other hand tangled in her hair, his lips moving deeply and fully against hers; it was there that she realized he had become _everything_ to her. It was true, what she'd said when she told him that she hadn't realized she was empty until he'd filled her. That he was the only person who had ever made her feel that she belonged. She wondered how she could possibly go back to her life before him.

Rory felt him start to pull back slowly, the pressure of his lips on hers lightening though his grip on her didn't. She wanted kiss him harder again; she never wanted to stop kissing him. But she refrained and their lips gently broke, her eyes still closed. Tristan's hand slid from the back of her head to brush his fingers warmly across her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open to find that he was looking down at her. "Come on." He whispered, releasing her hesitantly. She felt it like one of her limbs had been ripped off. His hand went to the small of her back to guide her back to the others. She felt numb. They came to the others and stopped. Tristan slipped his hand off of her back.

Richard held his hand out to Tristan, "Thank you. For taking care of her."

"You have nothing to thank me for, trust me." Tristan's voice was without inflection, his face emotionless, but he took the offered hand and shook it, "Live well, Richard."

Her brother nodded, "And you."

Tristan turned to Rory, but her head was down, unable to look at him. He crooked his fingers under her chin, tilting her face up slightly. He laid a warm kiss on her forehead, "Ride safe." He whispered, his voice nearly pained. And with that he turned and ducked back under the tapestry, out of sight. She, Logan, Max, and Richard stood in the silence that followed, no one moving.

Rory inhaled deeply, already feeling the lack of him. A warm arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her against a solid body, "Come on, Ror, let's go home."

She looked up at her brother's understanding grin. His eyes crinkled around the edges when he smiled. Just like Logan's. She nodded lightly, slipping her pack from his grip, "Let's go."

Max went into the banquet and Logan led them back through the castle to the inconspicuous exit they'd planned on using. They followed him to the stables, the fresh snow crunching underfoot. "There's a compass and map of the night sky as well as the land in one of your packs. There's also food and water, a flint stone and steel to make a fire if you need it. We'll get you bedrolls and extra riding cloaks at the stables. You can get to the village of Stars Hollow by tomorrow evening if you ride straight through and the next afternoon if you stop to camp for the night, which, actually, I might suggest with this snow." They reached the castle's stables and Logan pulled the heavy door open, letting them enter in front of him. He followed and closed it behind him, cutting off the wind. He nodded towards the far end, "Your horses are down here." they trudged after him. He opened the stalls and fitted two horses with saddles, bridles, and reins, tying Rory and Richard's packs on the saddles before letting them out. They stamped in the cold, neighing heavily. Logan led them out; Rory and Richard following him. She pushed the door closed behind them. Once they got outside Logan turned to them, illuminated by the nearly full moon, "Tristan doesn't want either of you to worry about being discovered, no harm will come to you if it happens, but he does want you to be cautious, you understand. Neither of you are even supposed to be alive so he'd prefer if you just kept it quiet to avoid complications." Logan broke off as if realizing how cold he sounded, his gaze on Rory. He sighed, his shoulders falling, "You understand?"

She smiled weakly, "Of course we do, Logan."

He nodded, glancing back at the bright windows of the castle, "You two should probably get going then." He crouched next to Rory's horse, lacing his fingers, palm up. She smiled in thanks and stepped in his hands for leverage, throwing her other leg over the horse's back to settle into the saddle. Richard slid easily up onto his own horse without assistance.

Rory looked down at him, "Thank you Logan, so much, for everything." He shrugged nonchalantly, patting her horse's neck heavily. Her hand moved to cover his. He looked up at her slowly. "I mean it." she whispered, smiling warmly, "I wouldn't have survived all of it without you."

Logan's lip quirked, though it was as sad as it was amused, "You would have been alright." he turned his hand over to hold her fingers gently. He raised the back of her hand to his lips, brushing a light kiss over it, "Ride the wind, Leigh." He whispered.

She smiled sadly back, squeezing his hand, "God keep you."

Logan stepped back, his hand slowly sliding from hers. He looked to her brother, "Richard, it was good to know you."

He nodded, "It was good to know you."

Logan tucked his arms into his cloak to warm them, his gaze falling on Rory. He nodded once. She bit her lip, nodding back. And then he turned, walking back towards the castle. They watched him go, neither speaking. Rory looked up at the castle, the ground floor illuminated brightly with fires and people and decorations. She thought for a moment she heard laughter as a distant Logan opened the door, his now tiny frame illuminated in the rectangle of light. But she knew she couldn't. It was too far away.

"Rory." she turned, surprised by her brother's gentle voice, "Is this what you want? To go back?"

"Of course."

He shot her a look, "Tell me true, Rory. If it isn't what you want, if you want to stay here with him, then tell me. We won't go if you don't want it."

"I do want to." She whispered, glancing back up to the castle, "I'll just…miss him. That's all."

*~*

Logan came back into the castle, blowing into his hands to try to warm them. He walked back towards the main part of the building where the festivities were being held, shedding his cloak along the way. He entered the main banquet hall, going straight to the head where Tristan sat. As he passed Madeline and Stephanie, sitting halfway down the table, he heard them complaining about how Leigh wasn't there and when they'd be able to see her again. He hoped futilely that they hadn't said anything to Tristan about it. He went to his cousin and dragged over a chair, to sit facing him at the narrow end where there wasn't a second place setting. Tristan's food sat untouched in front of him. The people around him weren't even bothering to attempt to pull him out into conversation anymore. Logan sat staring at him for a moment, lost for words. Tristan ignored him.

"I am…confused." He said finally, speaking quietly so no one around them could hear. Tristan acted as if he hadn't heard. Logan went on, "You sent her away. You _love_ her. And you sent her away." He fell silent, waiting for Tristan to respond. He didn't. His only reaction was to clench his teeth, his jaw flexing. Logan leaned towards him, speaking slowly, "It comes out that she's a _noble_. That means _suitable_. You could _marry_ her if you just said the word. And you sent her away." Tristan closed his eyes as if in pain, pressing his fingers into the corners of his eyes. Logan leaned back, shaking his head in disbelief, "Am I missing something?"

"Logan." He spoke slowly, clearly, "I am not in a state for arguing tonight. What's your point?"

He shook his head, staring at Tristan as if he were an idiot, "Have you completely lost your mind? How many times have you told me that you would marry her? How many times have you told me that you wished she weren't common so that you could be with her? You love her, Tristan, you've been in love with her since the moment you first saw her. You want her more than you've ever wanted anyone in your life. I mean hell, given how torn up you were when you two weren't speaking I'd go as far as to say that you _need_ her. And now you have the chance to have _everything_ you want and you just sent it to some back woods village to marry the local farmer!"

Tristan let out a long sigh, "You're saying these things as if I'm not already painfully aware of them. What is your goal in this conversation, Logan?"

He widened his eyes lightly as if his point were obvious, "Go after her. Bring her back."

"No." he said simply, pressing his fingers into his temples, hoping pressure would push down his growing headache.

"What do you mean, _no_? She'll come, Tristan, she loves you."

"Logan," he started quietly, calmly, turning to his cousin, "I am not going to ask Rory to marry me. The entire time between me and her, everything that happened? She was a prisoner through all of that-"

Logan cut him off, "What are you even talking about?"

Tristan shook his head, "She couldn't leave, Logan. Granted, she had a large cage and a lot of freedom, but essentially it was still a cage. She was a prisoner. And I realize that that isn't why she did the things she did, and I realize that she does…care…for me." He faltered at the end, "But that doesn't change the fact that she _was_ trapped. She wouldn't have thought she was allowed the option to say no. And I'm not going to ask a cornered girl to tie herself to me forever."

"Tristan-"

His cousin spoke over him, his voice quiet enough that no one around them heard, "And not only that, Logan, but she is a _Hayden_. Yes, noble. But forget not, oh brightest cousin, that I had her family _massacred_. Whatever Rory feels for me will never get rid of the fact that I destroyed her life before it ever started." He shook his head, scoffing, "Can you imagine the things people would say to her, Tristan? What people would say about _our children_? Her father killed mine so I had her entire family executed. She escaped and now we're getting married?" he attempted to mask his pain with derision. It didn't work.

Logan watched him, his eyes narrowed in thought. "Do you still want her?"

Tristan's eyes widened slightly, "Excuse me?"

"Do you even still want her? From the way you're talking…" he trailed off.

He stared at him for a moment as if considering whether or not he was an idiot, "You are honestly asking me if I want _Leigh_? After everything you're really going to question whether or not I want her?"

Logan shook his head, "I wouldn't if you weren't talking like this."

Tristan leaned his head back, "Logan I spent weeks and weeks worrying that she only slept with me because she thought she was obligated. I am not going to do that for the rest of my life."

"So then that's it? It's over?"

He cracked his jaw, staring at the table, "I have taken so much from her, Logan. I can't be around her and not take everything. I don't want to hurt her anymore." He licked his lips thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing in concentration, "If she can go back to her village and marry someone and be happy then…that's what I want for her." He struggled through it. Neither of them believed for a second that he would ever wish her into another's arms, even if that was what she wanted. He spoke slowly, almost painfully, "If somehow she and I find each other again…" he trailed off, "…and enough time has passed, if once she's out of the situation she still wants me…" he shrugged, shaking his head lightly, "then we'll figure something out, I guess."

Logan watched him as he finished, his face expressionless as he listened. They sat in a silence for a moment, the room chattering around them. "Tristan?" he said finally.

"What?"

"You're an idiot for letting her go."

He bit the insides of his cheeks, staring at the table, "I had to."

Logan didn't answer at first, but stared at the table as well. After a stretch he nodded slowly, his voice muted, "I know."


	17. Chapter 17

Rory sat next to the pond, the flat sunbathing rock beneath her as she stared resolutely at the rippling water. Lane stood next to the rock, her hands resting unconsciously on her swollen belly. They sat in silence, Lane watching her friend with concern. "Rory, please say something." she whispered.

Her shoulders rose and fell slowly, defeated, "I don't have anything _to_ say."

Lane bit her lip nervously, uncertain of what to do. Rory had been different since her return home. Initially she'd been overjoyed but after a few weeks that had worn off and she'd become gradually quieter and darker, she was flatter than she used to be, as if some internal light had been snuffed out. "What happened to you while you were gone?" she asked quietly.

A short burst of air came from the back of Rory's throat, halfway between a sigh and a whimper. "You know everything that happened."

"Then what is it? Why did you want to come here?"

Rory still stared at the water, her eyes narrowed in concentration. When she thought of this place she was showered with memories of her childhood…a happy childhood, overall, despite her unique circumstances. This was the pond they'd been swimming in as children when the king's personal guard had come looking for her. Jess, Dave, and Lane had saved her life. But there were other memories…summers as they got older. They would spend days on end here, camping in the fields and swimming in the pond, running through the forest around them. It had been a happy time. She'd always felt safe here.

But now that she was older it wasn't the same. It had been a year since Lane had run here from the village, interrupting Rory's sword fight with Jess, screaming about how Dave had asked her to marry him…had it really only been a year? It felt like so much longer. This pond with its small waterfall wasn't the safe haven she recalled from before she'd gone to the castle. The grass was scratchy, not soft and springy like she'd remembered. The water was dull, not crystalline and pure. The sun beat down on you and the wind, when it condescended to blow, was only hot air expelled from heavenly lungs. The trees weren't as tall or as green. The birds didn't sing like she remembered. Being here didn't make her warm and calm like it used to. This wasn't her safe place anymore.

Rory bit her lip, exhaling shakily as she looked over at her friend. She smiled weakly, resting a hand on Lane's pregnant stomach, "Have you and Dave agreed on a name yet?"

"Don't you mean me, Dave, and my mother?" she asked lightly, sitting on the rock next to Rory, "And no, Dave is freaking out enough about being a father that I'm not going to let the baby be named something he can never pronounce…" she smiled lightly, laying her hand over Rory's on her stomach, "but Lord knows he tries."

Rory nodded thoughtfully, her eyes on their hands, "He's a good one, Lane. You did good."

"Yeah, I know." she said softly, tilting her head towards her friend, "Is that what this is about?"

Rory looked up at her, pulling her hand back, "What?"

She motioned to the trees around them, "Coming out here…this mood…is that what it's about? Me and Dave…the baby?" her voice softened, "Or should I say you and Tristan?"

Rory stared at Lane for a moment, not speaking. She blinked rapidly, though, pushing back emotion before turning away from Lane to look at the small waterfall. She pressed her lips together, pulling her knees to her chest, "I just…I _miss_ him, Lane. I miss him so much." she whispered, her voice barely audible. She shook her head, "I know it's been six months and I know by now…" she shrugged one shoulder, hugging her knees tighter to her body, "I know by now he's probably promised to some princess or the daughter of a Duke."

Lane nudged her shoulder gently with her own, "_You're_ the daughter of a Duke. Well, granddaughter, really, I suppose, since it never passed to your father. Now the sister of one, since Richard is alive."

"No." Rory whispered, shaking her head, her gaze far off, "I'm sure Tristan stripped the Hayden family of our title after what happened with my father. We aren't noble anymore, Lane."

"Rory, you can't just take away nobility. It's something you're born with. It's in your blood."

She shrugged once, "Alright, I have noble blood, but no title to go with it, so it means nothing in the scheme of things." Rory broke off, her shoulders falling, "Besides, he didn't ask me. Tristan may care about me, but that doesn't change the fact that my family's name is tarnished."

Lane sighed, "Rory-"

"But that wasn't even my point." She cut her off, "I don't care about him being king, Lane, that means nothing to me. I just…I miss _him_. And I don't know how I'm supposed to go back to my life before him. He's changed me so much. Nothing is the same. Nothing."

Lane, unable to say anything to make it better, just rubbed Rory's back comfortingly. Rory wasn't crying…her tears had run dry months ago. She wasn't capable of crying over Tristan anymore. Lane remembered long nights, Rory curled into a ball on the floor, crying until she didn't have enough water in her body to shed tears and she simply shook with sobs, her body trembling from the loss of the first person she'd really ever _needed_. The nights of crying were enough that, in front of everyone else, Rory was able to smile and laugh and act like she did before. Luke and Rachel were so ecstatic to have her back that they'd learned to overlook it; Richard, who'd entered their lives seamlessly and was the dream given life to nearly every girl in the village of Stars Hollow, didn't know any better than to think that Rory was always like this. She and Jess saw the change but said nothing. That had been before, though, when she was able to cry out some of her pain. Now she wasn't even given that release. She couldn't cry over him anymore. She couldn't cry over him and so she was forced to live with the pain of losing him over and over. It made her withdraw deeper into herself, still wearing the mask around her parents, still playing the part. But her heart wasn't in it. Her eyes were always dead. The tears were gone. Now Lane saw only a bitter, wracking pain that couldn't be relieved by tears. Rory had passed the sadness and moved to desolation.

"What am I supposed to do, Lane?" she whispered, her voice breaking, "How am I supposed to go back?"

Lane rubbed her back soothingly, "You don't have to go back to the way you were before him, Rory. You can just move on from here."

She shook her head, pressing her forehead to her knees, "I've tried. I've tried so hard. But I see him everywhere. Every time I close my eyes. Every time my mind wonders; he's there. How can I move on when he won't let me go?"

"Rory." she whispered sadly, combing her finger through her friend's long hair, "I wish there was something I could-" Lane broke off midsentence, the sharp bark of a dog making her look around, "Did you hear that?" she asked.

Rory lifted her head, looking around the clearing as well, "Yes." The dog barked again, louder this time. She nodded towards one of the small hills that lay in the direction of Stars Hollow, "It's coming from over there." She was about to slide off of the rock when the dog, its barking now a constant cry, crested the hill. Rory froze.

A mastiff, nearly full grown but still with the loping run of a puppy, bounded down the hill towards them. It barked manically, speeding up as it saw them. Rory felt her heart stop.

Lane was tense beside her, pushing herself back slowly, "Rory…" she said uncertainly, worry bleeding into her voice.

Rory put her hand on Lane's arm, holding her still, "Wait."

The dog crossed the field that separated them in a matter of moments. It didn't even slow down as it came to the rock they sat on. Without breaking its stride or ceasing its bark, it jumped up onto the flat rock, its nails clicking as it slid into Rory, its tail wagging so hard it risked throwing itself off the rock. It jumped into her lap, big enough to crush her, and licked at her face manically, whining like nothing she'd ever heard.

Rory ran her hands down the back of its head, her voice laced with disbelief, "Duke?" she breathed, her eyes wide.

He barked in recognition, his name from her lips fueling his excitement. Lane slid off of the rock, one hand over her stomach to protect it as she inched away from the wildly shivering dog.

Rory laughed out loud, hugging the dog to her chest. He was bigger than her now. "You're huge!" she yelled, pulling back to look at him. He half barked, half whined in response, jumping back into her arms, "But how did you get here?" she asked, still laughing, "Who brought…you…" she trailed off, something magnetic drawing her gaze to the hill her dog had just come over. Three men appeared at the top, moving towards the pond. Jess and Richard walked down the hill, her brother conversing with the third.

Rory felt the ground fall out from under her.

Lane looked up the hill, her eyes trained on the third man. "Rory," she spoke slowly, uncertainly, "is that…"

"_Tristan_." she breathed, raising her head to stare at him.

Duke jumped off of the rock and bounded across the field to jump around Tristan, barking and whining at him as if to tell him that he'd found her. As they came closer Rory could hear Richard's voice but had no chance of understanding what he was saying; her head was filled with static, everything around her dimming as Tristan came into sharper focus. He looked the same: smooth sun-darkened skin, unruly wheat-toned hair, broad shoulders and a long stride. He still moved the same, his muscled body flowing as he walked with a grace one wouldn't expect in someone of his build. He moved with the same confidence and purpose that spoke of a royal upbringing. And his gaze, when it fell on her, was still enough to make the world around her fall away until all she was aware of was him moving steadily towards her.

She couldn't breathe.

The men approached them, Duke breaking away to rejoin her. He didn't jump on her this time, but laid down next to her with his head in her lap, his eyes on her while his tail went mad with wagging. She barely even noticed. As the three of them came within speaking distance of the girls Jess called a greeting to them. Lane returned it, but all Rory could do was stare. Tristan didn't stare quite so conspicuously as she did, but his eyes constantly cut over to her as he and Lane were introduced and had a polite, albeit short, conversation.

While they were talking Jess broke away from the small group and came over to her, laying a light kiss on her cheek in greeting. He spoke quietly into her ear, "He came with his cousin, who stayed back in town. I wish there had been a way to warn you." He pulled back to look her in the eye, cupping her cheek affectionately, "I've never seen you so low, Rory. There's something about him that we _can't_ give you." he whispered, running his thumb along her cheekbone gently, "I like him, for what it's worth."

She let out a forced, shaky laugh, "You _like_ the king?"

Jess smiled so warmly at her laugh, forced as it was, one would have thought he'd never seen her smile. "That never leaves the two of us, you understand? I have a reputation to uphold."

Rory made a motion of tying her lips.

Her cousin nodded lightly, his voice still low enough that only she could hear, "I like him. Richard near loves him, I think. He's already won over Rachel, but we both know that isn't hard." He fell silent, hesitant, "Luke complained about him. But I think that was just for good measure. I think he actually likes him." Jess cast a glance over at the other three, "And he seems to be working Lane over as well." He looked back at her, "I wouldn't tell you all of this if I didn't think you needed to hear it. I know he hurt you, Rory, but from what you and Richard have said I think he hurt himself even worse. And while normally I would take a plow handle to any man who hurt you…" he trailed off, shaking his head lightly, "It's a long trek from Hartford for the king to make just to bring you a dog." He kissed her forehead encouragingly, "Think on it." he muttered, pulling back to give her a nod before turning back to the others. "Dave informed me that he wants his unborn child and its mother back…so…" he swept Lane into his arms and she squealed, surprised, before hitting him on the shoulder for not warning her. He just laughed, "Come on. No more walking for the pregnant woman."

"I swear, between the three of you and him I'm going to be off my feet for the next four months." she complained half-heartedly. Jess, Rory, Dave, and, surprisingly, Richard had taken it upon themselves to coddle Lane and keep her comfortable throughout her pregnancy. She always complained for good measure but never told them to stop. As it was, she wrapped her arms around Jess's shoulders to steady herself as he set off towards Stars Hollow. "I'll see you later today, Rory!" she called waving as Jess carried her away, Richard in tow. She motioned at Tristan wildly once they'd passed him and he could no longer see them, mouthing something to Rory that she couldn't make out. What she did understand were the two very conspicuous thumbs-up Lane gave her, nodding vigorously and fanning herself for effect while pointing to the king. At least she seemed to approve.

Rory watched them walk away, unable to look at Tristan; her gaze didn't break from them until they'd crested the hill and disappeared from sight, leaving the two of them completely alone.

Silence crept around them; the only sounds were the soft splash of the waterfall and the chatter of birds in the trees. Rory bit her lip, looking down at the ground. Tristan hadn't moved any closer to her, standing his ground several feet away. She sighed quietly, her breath becoming uneven. Her vision clouded with tears. Having him this close…this close after so long…but still too far away to touch…it made her body scream and her mind race. But she couldn't make herself move closer to him. They sat in that silence for several minutes, Rory refusing to look at him though she was sure he stared at her. The sun beat down on her back, scorching through her dress. How she must look, her hair down in messy waves and her face pale from emotion despite the fact she couldn't cry anymore, her dress a plain, simple green shift less elegant than even the slips and nightgowns he'd seen her wear. She was no longer as fair as she'd been at the castle, her skin slightly darkened from all the time she'd spent outside in the spring and early summer so far…not like a proper lady at all. It probably contrasted sharply with what he'd expected.

"How have you been?" he asked quietly, his voice rough.

She nodded once, blinking the tears out of her eyes. They didn't fall, but seemed to recede back from whence they'd come, "I've been alright." she swallowed hard, still unable to make herself look at him, "How are you?"

A derisive chuckle floated to her ears, bitter and devoid of humor, "I'm breathing."

At that she did look up, her lips parting as if she would speak, but as she caught sight of him the words died in her chest. Oh, but it _hurt_ to look at him. To see him so close; he'd obviously closed a bit of the space between them while her eyes were downcast; to breathe the same air again…it wasn't exhilarating like she'd expected. It was like a knife to her chest each time she inhaled. He did still look the same, as good as a young god from the Roman mythology given life. But he looked ragged. There were dark circles under his eyes and his cheeks had a hollowed look to them. He was cracking his knuckles absentmindedly and he looked as if he might have lost weight. His skin was almost sallow. She knew this look on him. "You haven't been sleeping." She whispered.

Again a quiet laugh, though this one wasn't as bitter as the first, "No." he acknowledged, shaking his head lightly.

"Why not?"

He looked at her, his expression unreadable as his gaze scanned every inch of her face. He didn't answer her question, but he didn't say anything else, either. He didn't move closer. He just stood, his clouded eyes taking in every inch of her. It wasn't sexual. It didn't make anything inside of her heat up or tingle. It wasn't the way she was used to him looking at her. It was the way one might look over their bedroom after being gone for a while…seeing if it was how you left it and looking around to reacquaint yourself with it.

Rory shifted, able to physically feel his eyes on her, "What?"

His gaze swept up to lock with hers and she had to bite back a gasp at the intensity of his stare. "My memory didn't do you justice."

Her heart fluttered, her body begging to fall back into its old routine of allowing Tristan to work her over with words that worked as well as hands. But she refrained, breaking her gaze from his instead. She looked down, biting her lip.

She heard him step closer, "_Rory, please_." He said quietly, his voice hoarse.

Her head shot up and he froze a few feet from her, his hand outstretched as if he'd meant to touch her. They stared at each other for a heartbeat and he slowly brought it back, flexing his fingers and curling them into his palm as if he'd been burned. She looked up at him warily, her body nearly shaking in response to having him so close. But she had to know. She couldn't do this to herself if he just meant this as a drop-in to see how she was doing. If that was all he'd planned then she couldn't touch him. She wouldn't survive losing him again. "Why did you come?" she whispered finally, her voice weak.

He said nothing, staring at her through a mask of calm and control. There was nothing _alive_ in that face.

She inhaled shakily, pressing her lips together, "Was it to bring Duke? That's what you told my family, isn't it? Is that why you're here?"

Again he said nothing, just stared at her.

Rory shook her head slowly, feeling tears push at the back of her eyes, "Don't do this, Tristan. Don't. You don't have the right to come to my home after sending me away and then just stand there like you're stone when I ask you for answers." She bit her lip to hold back the tears, clenching her back teeth stubbornly. She hadn't been able to cry over him in months. She wasn't going to start now. She slid off of the rock, standing several feet from him. "Why are you here?"

Something she'd said must have struck a nerve because she saw his jaw flex, his eyes spark, "You really want to know?"

She nodded.

Tristan rubbed his hand hard over his mouth and chin, preparing himself to speak. He swallowed hard, laboriously peeling away the mask so that she could see him. After a moment he spoke quietly but with certainty, "I can't do it anymore."

"Can't do what?"

His gaze snapped up to hers and she felt herself falling again. "I'm going mad." his voice was quiet, pained, as he stepped closer to her. "You're everywhere, Rory, in everything. I can't lay in my bed or look at my family and friends, or even close my eyes but that I see your face. But that I feel you around me and next to me and within me." he clutched a hand to his chest, over his heart. She stared at him, unable to speak, but he didn't wait for a response as he went on, "I tried. I tried to stay away from you. I never meant for this." he shook his head, "I meant to let you go and come back here and get married without robbing you of your virtue, but I've found, painfully, that I can't. I can't let you go. I meant to find someone, to marry soon after you left, but the thought of anyone else in my bed sickens me. I meant for _you_ to marry, but once you left the image of you with someone else was seared into my mind and nothing I did could get it out. The thought makes me wretch, the image of it makes me wish I were blind so I wouldn't have to see it night after night." he spoke brokenly, his face more earnest than she had ever seen it as he stepped closer, holding a hand out to her hesitantly, "I don't know what to do but I can't be away from you any longer, Leigh." Rory started and he stopped, catching himself on the name. He stared at her for a moment. She felt her stomach clench as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, her fingers wringing together. Tristan stared at her, locked gazes with her until she didn't have the power, let alone the will, to turn away. "Leigh." he breathed, touching her face, "Lorelai. Rory. Whatever your name is. Whatever you are called. Whoever you wish to be, I can't be away from you anymore. The months since you left have felt like death to me. No one has ever had the effect on me that you do; no one has ever come close.

"And so I find myself here because I see that..." he trailed off, running his fingers lightly up and down her jaw line, "...I see that foolishly and impossibly..." he whispered, his face inches from hers, his breath dancing across her face, "...though irrevocably and fervently…" he trailed off, waiting with bated breath. Rory's eyelids fluttered, and though she knew what he was about to say, finally, after all this time, she couldn't bring herself to stop him. Tristan felt his chest swell and pound, almost as if he were about to jump from a cliff. He went on, his voice soft, "_I love you_." he traced his thumb lightly across her lower lip. She'd lost all ability to speak or form a coherent thought, and so she just listened to his quiet, pained voice as he whispered against her skin, "You've ruined me for anyone else. I'm hopeless, Rory, beyond the ability to ever even wish to recover." He finally fell silent, his forehead resting against hers as his eyes closed. "Tell me what to do." he begged.

Rory's fingers rose to brush lightly against his stomach through his shirt. Her stomach clenched, her arms shaking weakly in response to the ripple she felt rock through the muscles of his torso when her fingers skimmed across it. She traced her fingers farther up until her hands trailed across his shoulders to sweep down his arms. She curled her fingers around his wrists, her eyelids fluttering. "Say it again." she breathed finally.

His eyes snapped open, "What?"

"My _name_."

He didn't answer at first and her eyes opened slowly to stare up at him. Tristan's face slowly transformed as a smile crept onto his lips. "Rory." he whispered. She exhaled slowly, closing her eyes again. He leaned down, one arm winding around her waist to pull her close against him as his lips brushed the shell of her ear, "Rory." He kissed her temple, slowly winding his arm tighter around her, "Rory." he breathed, tracing his lips across her cheek. He came to her lips and stopped, trailing his fingers up from her jaw to tangle slowly in her hair. He tilted her face up so that she was looking at him, her gaze locked with his, "Lorelai. Leigh. Hayden." His eyes darted from her gaze to her lips and back before leaning down; Rory's eyes fluttered as she felt her stomach flip.

And then his lips were against hers.

Rory felt the world explode. Before she knew what had happened her arms were around him, pulling her body against his. The kiss that started out as his lips pressed softly and affectionately against hers quickly spiraled into something else as she clenched the back of his shirt in her hands, a muffled moan blossoming from the back of her throat. She felt his lips, his teeth, his tongue, all pleading and warm and _real_, desperate against her own. His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her face closer to his as his other arm slid around her to pull her body flush against his. His body was hard and solid and comforting against hers but there was too much in the way…too many layers of clothes and air and skin and bone separating them. Being pressed against him wasn't what she wanted. It wasn't even the closeness of sex with him, which now didn't even seem like the right word for it, that her body was screaming for. It was more than that. To be closer than that. She needed to be closer to him than that allowed for. She hugged him tighter, willing herself to sink into him.

She was ripped from her train of thought when Tristan's lips broke from hers. He mumbled something against her skin but she didn't understand it, her mind reeling to catch up with her body. He repeated it but his voice still sounded muffled because of the roaring in her ears. Now he was looking at her, his body pulled away enough that she didn't feel him pressed against her. Her skin protested.

She looked up at him, "What?"

Tristan twirled a lock of her hair around his finger, repeating quietly, "Come back with me."

And that was all it took to bring her crashing back to reality. She was suddenly cold, her body drenched in painful realization. Rory shook her head, pulling away from him, "I can't."

"Yes you can." he reached out for her hand, turning her back towards him, "Rory, I know I wasn't there for you before. I know that I didn't treat you like I should have and I know that I've messed this all up. I know that I have no right to ask this of you and that you have every right to walk away from me and never look at me again." he tilted his head towards her, his hand warm on her wrist. His voice was hard, not soft and pleading like it had been earlier, but solid and intense, asking her for something he felt he didn't deserve, _telling_ her. "I know that I wasn't what you needed before but I'm different now. I've changed since you left, Rory and I can be what you need now, I _can_."

She sighed, looking away from him. It was too hard while she could see his face, "Tristan, honestly-"

He cut her off, "I mean it, Rory. I was selfish before and I didn't talk to you when I should have and I kept things from you." He crooked his fingers under her chin, raising her gaze to his face, "But that's done; I swear, Rory, I can be what you need now."

Again she felt tears pushing at the back of her eyes; she lowered her gaze, "Tristan, _please_." She whispered, his hand on her face and wrist scorching her skin. She couldn't bear to look at him, not when he believed what he was saying so fervently; not when he told her he loved her and begged her to come back. Tristan had never been realistic about them. That had always fallen to her. She didn't blame him; she never had. Tristan, hard as he was, had allowed himself to be broken down by her…protected, in a way, from himself if nothing else. She'd practically asked for it. She could never hold it against him.

She felt him shake his head and she could see his disbelieving expression in her mind.

His hand slid from her chin to trace across her jawline, refusing to let her look away or shut him out. They were doing this now. After months of dancing around it and then half a year of separation that he thought would kill him, they were doing it. And she was _going_ to look him in the eye. He coaxed her gaze up to his and felt his own face soften at the tears that swam in her eyes. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone comfortingly. Rory closed her eyes and a tear slid down her right cheek as her left relaxed into his hand, her face turning into his palm. Tristan slid his other hand into her hair, leaning down to lay a warm kiss down her cheek where the tear made a single shimmering track. When he pulled back he could taste salt on his lips. "What is it?" he asked quietly.

Rory didn't respond at first. She squeezed her eyes shut tight for a moment, inhaling deeply. She breathed out slowly, steeling herself, and then pulled her face from his touch, her expression guarded. She stepped back from him, her voice pained, "There isn't a place for me in the castle Tristan, whether you love me or not."

"That isn't true."

"I belong here." she said quietly, dropping her gaze to avoid being burned by the heat in his.

"You belong with me." he said earnestly, touching her chin.

She turned away from him, shaking her head lightly, "As what? Your live-in mistress?"

Tristan's eyes widened slightly, "No–"

She cut him off, "A paramour? So you can come to me when you tire of your wife?"

"_No._" He was obviously trying to cover the disgusted look on his face but was failing. "No, not as a mistress."

"Then as what? A trainer for your guard? A _maid_? There isn't a place. What do you want from me Tristan?" she cried, exasperated as she twirled around to face him. But when her gaze met his her breath caught and she had to take a step back.

He was staring at her, his eyes brighter than she'd ever seen them. "I want you to be my wife." he whispered.

Rory felt the world stop. The only sound was her heart beating, as loud as thunder, in her ears. There was stillness; an impossible silence hung between them. She could have sworn the ground beneath her dissolved away. She stared up at him through swimming eyes, her body clenching painfully. "What?" she choked out finally.

"I want you to marry me." he whispered, his eyes burning, "I meant it. Every night that I told you, I meant it."

She shook her head, unable to speak. What was this feeling in her chest? This impossible ripping and spasming behind her ribs? It took her a moment to realize it was her heart, perhaps not actually tearing in two, but that was what it felt like. How? How could he do this to her? How could he hold everything she wanted so close, when they both knew it wasn't possible? "I can't." she whimpered finally, turning away from him.

He lunged forward, grabbing her before she could move away from him, "Why not?"

Her face twisted towards him and she stared open-mouthed, not bothering to hide her tears or the obvious pain behind them, "Why? _Why?_ Tristan, how can you do this?" she tried to pull away from him but he wouldn't let her. "Let me go." she whispered.

But he just held on tighter. "No."

"Stop." she pulled feebly at her arm, knowing he wouldn't release her, "Tristan, it hurts." she whispered. He lightened his grip, not wanting to cause her pain. She almost laughed, "Not that kind of hurt."

"You don't want to marry me?"

"I _can't._" she cried painfully, turning her body away.

He grabbed her with his free hand, spinning her back around to face him, "_Why not!?_"

"_Because I'm common!_" she hissed, jerking her arm away, "I am common, Tristan, and you may have decided that you don't care, but no one else will agree."

He stared at her, open-mouthed, his expression disbelieving. It took him a moment to speak. "Common?"

"Yes, common." her voice broke.

"You're not common." he said as if it were obvious.

"Tristan." she shook her head, "My father owns an inn and my mother is a painter. I grew up in a three room cabin in a minuscule village. I'm common."

He stepped closer to her, touching the side of her face and tilting her face towards him. "No, _Lorelai_, your father was one of the foremost knights of Hartford. On your father's side you're the granddaughter of a Duke and on your mother's the grandchild of a Marquis." His gaze was soft as he stared into her, a gentle smile curving the edges of his lips, "You are as noble as any woman in my court."

She shook her head, "No. That's what I used to be. It's not what I am anymore."

His eyebrow arched, "Oh? So you have the ability to change your blood?"

"No, that's not it–"

"Yes." he cut her off, "That is it. That's all it is. Blood. And you have it. Nearly as noble as it comes, Rory."

She shook her head, unable to believe, after everything, that they could be together. It was too much to accept. "But my family's title…"

Tristan nodded lightly, "Yes, what about it?"

She shook her head, "It's gone."

Tristan's eyebrows drew together, "What makes you say that?"

"Well…" she faltered, blinking rapidly, "Treason. I just thought…" she trailed off.

He shook his head, "I never revoked the Hayden family's title. _You_ are a noble."

Rory bit her lip, staring up at him. It didn't feel as if, after everything she'd gone through, that she would ever be allowed to have him. That she would ever be able to just get something. To have someone. She and Tristan? Married? A Dugrey and a Hayden? That thought made her chest constrict again. Maybe Tristan wanted them together…but it wasn't completely his decision. "How?" she whispered finally.

"How what?"

She exhaled shakily, "How could you and I ever work? The people, Tristan, you're the king. To marry a Hayden? They would never allow it."

His face darkened as his hands clenched, pulling away from her, "You think I care what _the people_ have to say about this? It doesn't matter what they say. You're a noble. They can't say _anything_ about it."

Rory felt hope blossom in her chest. But she couldn't give into it…not yet…not until she knew for certain this was possible. "But the people who do have to approve? Max Medina? The other advisors? Your mother? The priest, even?" they would need the blessing and approval of all of them.

Tristan shook his head as if tiring of this fight, "What about them?"

"I may have blood as pure as anyone's, Tristan, but that doesn't change the fact that I grew up in an inn in a tiny village. A queen, that does not make." She swallowed hard, pressing her lips together, "My past…the things that happened between our families…it doesn't matter how noble I am, in everyone's minds I'll always be either the girl from a nameless village who is no better than a common woman or else the daughter of a traitor. Max and the others will never allow it. When you go to them about it they'll deny you and make you take another wife-"

He cut her off, finally reaching his breaking point, "Another wife?! You think it would matter if I took another wife? You think I would touch anyone else after you? You think I could stand to have someone else bear my _children_?" she flinched but he went on, his anger showing through, "I would always come back to you. Just like this. And you would always come back to me." he spoke with conviction. It wasn't a question. It wasn't a guess. Rory shook her head, biting her lip as she turned away. But before she could completely turn from him he raised his hands to cup either side of her face and turn her fully towards him. "You think I don't see it, Rory? You think I don't see the effect these past six months have had on you? You think I don't see the pain?" She closed her eyes, pressing her lips together as he continued, "I can't bear it, Rory. I can't be without you. Even if I took another wife I could never look at her. I don't want anyone else. You've ruined me for anyone else.

"I want you with me every day. I want you in my home. In my bed. But it isn't just that. I want you to be mine in every way, Rory. I want you to have my children." he breathed the last part and her gaze snapped up to meet his. He stared at her calmly before continuing. "I've never had this, Rory. I always knew that I wanted children, but it was never because of my wife. I wanted them for my own sake, because I had to have an heir; it was what I was supposed to do. Because I wanted to be a father like mine was. But now, with you, I want children because of _you. _I want them because the thought of having them with you...." he trailed off, unable to find the words, "I want to be with you forever, Rory, I want a family with you. I'm not asking you to marry me as the king. I'm not asking you to marry me because we need a queen. I am asking you because the thought of having children with anyone else makes me sick. The thought of touching anyone else makes me want to cut my hand off and the thought of you with someone else makes me want to die, Rory." he shook his head, touching her face lightly, "I am asking you because you have consumed me. You saved me, Rory. Don't you see that?" he whispered, his voice breaking, "I didn't know what I needed before you came into my life. But now I do. I know that I needed absolution. But not from the church. Don't you see? God can't absolve me." He swallowed hard, his hands warm on her face, "_You did_. You saved me when I didn't even know that I was lost. But I was, Rory, I was. I was so lost in the dark that I didn't even know what light was. And now I'm here, giving supplication to the only religion I have ever known." His voice was practically a whisper, but solid and sure, "I want to do that for you too, Rory. I want to bring you out of it. I want to be for you what you are for me, and so I'm asking you, will you marry me?"

She stared up at him, tears pushing at the back of her eyes, "Yes." she whispered, her voice thick.

He blinked, taken aback, "What?"

"Yes." she said again, this time clearer, "Yes. Yes. _Yes_." she repeated, bringing her hands up to clutch his wrists. A look she'd never seen before flashed across his face and in the next moment his arms were around her and she was crushed against him, the air expelling from her lungs. She had barely pulled back enough to breathe before his mouth was on hers, his tongue forcing her lips open. She gasped, nearly losing her footing as the intensity of his embrace burned her. But her arms flew around his neck, clutching the back of his shirt and pulling him hard against her as she pulled his bottom lip between her teeth.

After a stretch that could have been five minutes or an hour he pulled away, raising his hand to cup her cheek and push her gently back, just far enough to speak, "Rory..." he said quietly, unable to form another word, resting his forehead against hers.

Rory bit her lip, clenching his shirt in her fingers. "I love you too." she whispered, opening her eyes.

He stared at her from an inch away, his gaze heated, "Do you?"

She nodded, closing her eyes for a moment as she clutched him tighter, "I do, _I do_." she whispered, feeling a lump rise in her chest, "And Tristan you don't know how I've missed you."

He ran his fingers lightly down her jaw, "Have you?" She saw now that he knew she had, but wanted to hear it from her.

"Yes. Every day I look for you, it's like I'd left a part of me with you. And every night–" she broke off, but from the shuddering of his back beneath her hands she knew that he understood. "Every night I yearned for you, I'd wake up in the night and feel for you but you weren't there. I'd toss and turn when I was trying to sleep because I'd gotten so used to falling asleep while you held me." She locked gazed with him, trailing one hand up to run through his hair, "And this need, Tristan, this _need_ that I've had." she breathed, pushing her body against his, "Every night it gets worse. Every night when I remember your hands and your body and your mouth and I can't–" she was cut off abruptly as his lips crashed roughly against hers; his hands grasped at her back, pulling her impossibly close.

"_Rory_." he whispered against her mouth, his voice pained, "Rory, I love you. I _love _you."

She kissed him deeper, cutting off his words as her arms tightened around him. Her entire body shook, trembling from the months of pain and loneliness and longing for him, combined with the shock and the warmth and the joy of having him here. She started to shiver harder until she didn't think she could stand and longer and so she collapsed to the ground, pulling him with her without breaking her lips from his.

Tristan grunted in surprised but caught his weight on his hands on either side of her body before slipping his arms around her waist and pulling her to him. She wound up in his lap, her fingers clenching his shirt as though it kept her attached to the earth. He gripped her trembling arm comfortingly, his mouth warm on hers as he slowly broke the kiss, "You're shaking." he whispered, looking over her in concern.

Rory nodded, swallowing hard against the uncontrollable jumping of her muscles, "I know." she replied quietly, closing her eyes, her forehead pressed against his. Her voice came out hoarse, "I've missed you. Tristan, but it _hurts_. I've _missed you_."

Tristan shook his head gently, touching her face, "I'm here. You don't have to anymore."

"I know, but I _do_." she breathed, holding on to him tighter. "You told me once that you would do anything for me."

She felt him nod, "I would."

Rory picked her head up to look him in the eye, "Just one."

Tristan ran the backs of his fingers down the side of her face lightly, his voice deep, "Whatever you want."

She raised a shaking hand to wrap around his wrist, stilling his hand on her face, her voice wavered, "Never leave me again."

Tristan's face crumbled. She read the heartbreak at her words on his face. "No." he croaked quickly, holding her face in his hand, "No, Rory, I swear, never again." She buried her face in his neck, clutching him tighter to herself as her body continued to tremble. He slid his fingers through her hair, murmuring to her in a language she didn't know. His breath was warm on her ear, his lips brushing her skin as he spoke. Rory felt her shoulders shake. Having him so close, holding her and breathing soft words into her ear after months of pain and anger and simply _not knowing_, at first overwhelmed her, but slowly she felt herself relax, her body melting into his as her trembling subsided.

Rory pulled back slowly, her hands still unsteady as she raised them to hold either side of his face. He looked back at her levelly. Her voice was affected when she spoke, "One more. No mistresses. Ever." she traced her fingertips down his cheeks lightly, "I'll leave."

Tristan shook his head, "Rory, I don't want anyone else. Can't you see that?"

She trailed her thumb across his bottom lip, her eyes following the motion, "But you will. Once you have me for good. Once loving me isn't off-limits or forbidden or dangerous…once we're married and you don't have to fight for it anymore…you _will_ want to sleep with other women." Tristan said nothing, not because he agreed with her, but because he didn't want to argue. She went on, "But if you do. If you_ ever_ do, I won't stay. I don't care that you're the king." she finished in a rush, uncertain of how he would react. What he did was the _last_ thing she expected.

He kept his gaze on her, unwavering, until a slow smile began to work its way across his mouth. It became a full-fledged grin, his face warm. "You don't care that I'm the king?" he asked, his voice amused but husky.

Rory blinked rapidly, surprised by his reply, "No."

Tristan's eyes cut down to her mouth before rising back to hers. His smile widened and became one of the most genuine looks of happiness she'd ever seen on his face, "Good."

And with that his lips took possession of hers, kissing her deeply as his arms slid warmly around her body.

*

_This is the correlation between salvation and love_

_Don't drop your arms_

_I'll guard your heart_

_With quiet words I'll lead you in and out of the dark._

_-"The Unwinding Cable Car" Anberlin_

_*_

_A/N: You see, my sad reviewers? Of course there is happy trory love, o ye of little faith. But I guess…given the circumstances…it's not so unthinkable to have not so much faith considering the whole massive-time-periods-with-no-updates thing I seem to get cases of. So, faithful readers, this is the last chapter-chapter (and it only took three and a half years! Ha.) And I can't thank you guys enough for reading and letting me know what you think. Really, if it weren't for you guys I don't think I ever would have been able to finish it. So…this is it, epilogue to follow soon :) _


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